Did He Feel Like Home To You?

You let the mosquitoes get close and eat you alive 
simply because you want to feel something 
other than what you’ve been feeling: 
the ache of a love affair that never really was, 
the slow burn of watching twin flames disintegrate, 
the death of two people who ended up together 
because the universe made it so.
You grieve the love like a loss, 
as if you have no other choice, 
as if two people who were together in another life 
weren’t together in this one 
because that’s just the way things go sometimes. 
There’s something about the humidity,
how it reminds you of his palms and how they felt touching yours. 
There’s a softness to the way the moths flutter around the light.
If someone were to ask, 
Did he feel like home to you?
you might let the quiet do the talking.