My Soul Yearns for Love

I bought myself a flat, but I didn’t feel at home.

A home is not a place where one person lives. A home is where love lives. And that means two people living together, where the love they have for each other is an energy that resonates out, fills the rooms, and you could say that the love itself becomes a new creature that actually breathes; where two people love each other so much that they inspire a love that’s a living thing, a spiritual creature that warmly inhabits the rooms, roams with tenderness around the walls, walks with wonder over the carpets, relaxes in bliss on the sofa, and the happiness this new being feels, is fed back to the two people in love with each other.

An delightful electrical current becoming stronger and stronger.

How my heart ached for it.

My soul yearned for it.

And as I sat there, all alone in the living room, I just knew, from the depths of me, that I was more than this bag of flesh and blood; I had the huge country of a soul inside me, some strangely supernatural thing that was far, far larger than the flat, but somehow nestled and squeezed deeply inside me, aching to breathe and grow and discover its rightful inheritance.

I could feel my soul talking to my body, talking to my mind – ‘Feed me. I’ve come into this world to receive love. Please feed me, or I shall die.’

And so my bachelor flat was not a home for love, because it was just that – a bachelor flat.

Room for one.

Meals for one.

A sofa for one, and a bed for one.

Nothing to share, nothing to grow, and a dreadful sense of a stagnation settling like the dust of death in every room.