The House Felt Too Full of Me

Dear Delyara, My coat on the chair. My mug by the sink. My handwriting on the calendar. My voice in the children’s reminders. My shopping in the cupboards. My labour in every room. And somehow, instead of feeling at home, I felt erased by it. That is the strange thing no one says enough: a woman can be everywhere in a house and still feel missing inside it. Tonight, I walked from room to room and kept meeting evidence of myself in practical form. What I wanted was evidence of myself as a person. That was harder to find.