Still Homesick, Sitting at Home

I have this chronic thought that runs through my head, now on autopilot, after so many years. It’s become more frequent, and less subtle. It’s unprompted and impulsive. A sort of instinctive cry, stemming from subconscious human need. It bubbles up from my guts, dances up the back of my spine, burrows into my tense neck, and mutinies my consciousness. “I wanna go home”, my mind spits out.

But, I can’t just catch a train and go, because I don’t know where that is. It certainly isn’t anywhere I’ve lived thus far. I’ve never really felt that ‘home‘ was something I found in four walls and a tile floor.

Still, I know it well — the place where your needs are tended to and your wounds are dressed. The place where you’re comfortable and safe. The place where you‘re truly yourself, and you belong. Where you’re sheltered from harsh storms. Where you can finally rest your weary eyes and lower your defenses because your vulnerabilities are veiled.

Yes, I’ve found home… but I’ve found it in other people. I’ve found it with love — my lone shelter. And so, I’ve spent my days sprinting from the cover of one scaffold to another in the constant torrential rains.

And maybe that’s why I hang on to love far too long and rush in far too fast. Because just one night on the winter streets can kill you.

Now, houses never leave… but people never stay. So I continually find myself aching, longing, begging, to go home, and it’s not so easy.

But you know, everyone seeks love each and every day. So maybe it’s not just me. Maybe we’re all just going to be a little homesick, no matter where we are.