Sometimes you are someone’s favourite sweater. They wear you all the time. They wear you around the house, out to dinner, to the movies or even while they sleep. They wear you in front of their friends and their families and in front of strangers, because you are their favourite sweater and they want everyone to know. As it happens, whether on purpose or by accident, one day they hang you in the back of their closet. Before long, other sweaters are placed before you, and you watch them, as they come and go, wondering if you’ll ever be worn again. Soon you become not as accessible. The other sweaters are easily seen and touched and worn. You suddenly become far away. Far away means they forget the colour in your eyes and the way you smell and your voice in the morning. So you hang, collecting dust, and watching other sweaters keep the body you love warm. Maybe one day, you’ll be pulled from the closet, and they’ll remember how they never felt as warm from all the other sweaters, as they did with you. They’ll remember how you promised not to scratch their skin or be stained with lies, and you kept those promises. But as it happens, maybe you were just a sweater, and you were only ever meant to be worn, until they no longer needed you.
Coming home to someone is many things. It is a literal action, an abstract idea, a physical feeling. It is more than the sound of the key turning in the door and the voice that calls from the porch. It is a choice, a promise, a declaration. It is a return, not as a person to a place, but as oneself to another. It is one individual saying to another: ‘You are the one I choose’.