And it was when she returned to her own bed,
Tossing, turning that she realised:
Some people were home.
He was her home, her soul clung to him
Like new born kittens to a warm chest.
He was her home because,
Although he drove her mad,
She felt content.
At peace, if you may.
He was her home because she felt understood.
She could never have him to herself.
At least not completely.
It would be overwhelming.
You would almost think she enjoyed the chase.
The ache. The craving for him.
Absurd as it may sound or look from our perspective.
When the universe brought those two together.
She knew why.
He was hers.
Who is yours?