Home: a place of safety in the midst of chaos. A refuge in times of despair. But August 4 didn’t play by the rules. The damage of the blast spilled over like a glass of white wine over our home. Tainted the corners, destroyed my belongings, and stained my safety. I walked in and looked over to the dinner table which was now snuggled under a window blanket, and images of the night before started flooding my brain, forcing their way out. My sister and I had been playing monopoly on that same table. I couldn’t help but imagine both scenarios meshed together. I saw my head go through the glass. I looked away and watched the image fade into little pieces… little pieces of glass led me to my room, like leftover crumbs guiding my way. There, I saw that pieces of the window and wall had made themselves comfortable in my bed. I didn’t know what to make of this. I went outside to catch my breath. I was grieving the loss of safety, the loss of a home. So here I am, alive and well, but a homeless person living in a house.