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They say “home is where the heart is.” || OnlyHams 🍑

I used to roll my eyes at that kind of thing. Still do, honestly. It always sounded like something you’d find on a fake-weathered wooden sign in a suburban hallway. Too sentimental. Too soft.

And I was never that.
I never needed a person or a place to feel grounded. I was fine in the chaos, in motion, drifting if I had to. My space was mine—walls, doors, silence. Comfortable. Clean. Controlled.

But then someone walked in. Uninvited. Unapologetic.
And suddenly the walls weren’t enough.

Because when he left, everything around me stayed the same—same furniture, same music, same fxcking dent in the couch cushion.
But it didn’t feel like mine anymore.
It felt hollow.

They say “home is where the heart is.” I still think it’s cliché.
But maybe there’s a little truth buried in it.
Because somehow, my heart isn’t in these four walls. Not in the city I grew up in.

It’s in a look I still remember.
A voice that used to call me sweetie, half-mocking, half-melting.
It’s in the air between us that never fully cleared.
And god help me, I think that’s what home feels like now.

Not a place.
Not even a person.
Just that feeling.

And I hate that.
Because it means I don’t really know where I live anymore.



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