A sense of home can be of warmth,

But also of Abandonment,

Of those of should have loved me,

But didn’t somehow, Or could not show it.

Perhaps they did, but all I remember is the broken windows,

The winter wind which blew through our lives,

Not in malice,

But a reflection of a poverty, I didn’t know.

From which, someone who truly cared, protected me.

So, I might only know love.