When You Get Home, 2026
Alfred Timothy
Long Beach, CA
Acrylic on canvas
36 × 48 inches
@alfredtimothystudio

When You Get Home came from learning how to live without someone I still loved, while never completely letting go of the hope that he might return.
I tried to move forward. I went to work, the gym, therapy, saw friends, painted, laughed, and tried to become a better version of myself. Life continued, but moving forward never quite felt like letting go.
My two cats became portraits of that contradiction. In their very different personalities, I began to recognize two parts of myself.
Levi sleeps. Naturally quiet and reserved, he became the part of me exhausted by the arguing, the disagreements, and loving someone while no longer knowing how to repair what was hurting between us.
Henri remains awake. Curious, affectionate, and always alert, he became the part of me that still looks toward the empty side of the bed and wonders if someone might come home. His gaze meets the viewer as if asking, Is it you?
I hold them both.
That embrace became important to me because I am still carrying both truths: I understand why we had to let each other go, and I still wish we had found a way not to.
I still don’t know which part of myself to trust: the one learning to let go, or the one that still believes in coming home.
So I hold them both.
Part of me has learned to sleep.
Part of me is still listening for the door.