An Assortment of Not-Rights

Heavy absence of space. Habitation – in a small room. Having guests over within said room. Heads moving around the room, passing each other. Huddled by the hearth of a paper lamp, in the corner of the room – they say these are the things you’ll look back on, everyone you love in the same room at the same time. Home. Highway strips stretching to Arizona. Hefty canyons & white hills. Home but not my home. Here and there, both home because: I inhabit the space, because I am home. Habitare – to dwell – not to be confused with ‘to live’ ‘to stay’ ‘to reside.’  Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Holidays. Half of a cookie and the other half a minute later. Hedonic Asymmetry, which seems all the more true, a plaguing fear that I’ll never get the time back. Hawthorne effect, which occurs the most when I’m alone in my room. Haptics of sound. Heat. Hostile cold. [in]Hospitable. Halls stretch for long, home behind one of these doors.  childHood lingering near the spine; they say the body remembers everything.