Wrist Deep

Three hours later, I wish I could have jotted it all down then; the way I finally felt at home, how the dim lights felt like my skin, my jacket, my new jacket that I bought today so that I wouldn’t have to wear my friend’s, so that I could feel myself, the long walk home I took through the city because I got lost and took the long way home, the shops I saw on the way, the cheap ones, the expensive ones, looking out of place, feeling completely in place, being jammed into place like a jigsaw piece that doesn’t really fit but will with the right force, like a button forced through a too small hole, like my too small jacket bought today forced on a too small man in a far too big city under a far too big sky with its way too many stars that none of us can see, that I couldn’t see but was okay with because the light was dim and like my skin as I passed the ladders and debris of the sidewalk, everything locked up, everything broken, nothing and everything mine, as I came around the corner to some people who were mine too, people who might have smelled, though it was too cold to smell, like vanilla, tobacco, cucumber, smoke, smoke wrapped around my body like a thin warm coat, like a jacket I bought today, warm, like a skin I haven’t known till now, like coming home, like being home again, for the first time.