zineeditedevenlighter

Going Home.

The interactions are different.
The hugs and smiles are warm and inviting,
but the space between us seems to widen with every word spoken.
Home is so familiar,
yet also empty and liminal.
How do I go home?

I can’t breathe.

There are only remnants.
Of my home:
Piles of debris line the streets
and entire buildings are missing.
Of my life:
It is not the same when you leave for so long.
People forget.
Of me:
Who am I now?
Different than before.

remnants of my life,

l o s t
of me

I do not know this place

and worse yet, it does not know me.

lost,

but searching.

What is a Home?
a place,
a person,
a feeling,
or simply acollection of objects?

how do I know?

r e m a i n s .

Perhaps home is not meant to be the same.
It is not a constant that one can return to,
to fall back into what life used to be.
It is a dynamic.
It changes and evolves with you,
and sometimes without.
It holds memories and possibilities.
Love and loss.
For some, it is something to be escaped so they can continue to grow.
For me, it is something to visit and hold dear,
to remind me of the people that I love most
while I explore what the rest of the world has to offer.

So, I go back home.