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I suddenly feel as though this isn't my home.

For as long as I can remember, I have called both my apartment and this place in Roseville my home. I have spoken softly about them, with high praise, but yesterday I felt disconnected. Today, I feel disconnected.

In this place, I starve. The cupboards are stocked with miscellaneous food but I still starve. To take from their food is to be sinful, to be greedy. To take up their time is to be selfish and self-centered. I lounge on their couch and sit in their chairs, waiting for their attention. Always waiting for their plans. Waiting for their wants and desires so I can build myself around them. I want to wrap myself around them in the least imposing way.

I'm like a parasite.

I sleep in late so as to avoid the conversations that I do not want to have and the exercise routines that I do not want to participate in. They eat breakfast and sip coffee, talking about the plans and making small talk. In the apartment, I eat breakfast for lunch. My food right now is my perfume. My shirt is still soaked in the scent of gardenias. Getting off the train, the plants near the stop light smelled sweetly of gardenias. The wafting scent was so mysterious, I could not detect where the plants were in the tangled bushes and underbrush. Even then, I stood still and ate up the scent. Now, in the computer room with my pitfall hunger, I breathe in deeply of my shirt. I eat up the scent.

I do not feel like I am home.

In the apartment we wait for each other to arrive home to talk about our days. I feel a want when I know I am going to miss that moment Jayme stumbles in to the door with a cheerful greeting. I feel an ache sitting by myself in this house where all the others are asleep but I have no free will to make noise. I write my loud words on the driveway with my chalk. I hear the loud noises with my music, cradling my loneliness. I cannot walk outside, in my boots or any other kinds of shoes. I am not allowed to venture. I am not allowed to explore. Where did my home go?