These past couple of days have been hectic as fuck and it feels like I’m floating on air. Where am I? What am I doing? Who are these people? The usual familiarity that I felt with friends and classmates are suddenly absent and instead I find that closeness at home; well, it had always been there. But I had taken it for granted every time, and each time when all else fails on me, I realize that I have all the love I want - at home.
Home.
That’s such a weird word. My home… it’s ever-changing.
I recall when home meant riding my scooter from school through bumpy streets and red lights back to the two story house that was quiet from noise, until I ran upstairs and closed my room door where I would play guitar the whole day.
Then there was the time when home meant every available chance I had to see you, kiss you, love you, and most importantly, hold you in my arms. Home at that time meant the scent that I smelled from your hair and your neck, and the way you would look at me when I do frivolous acts. You felt like home because you understood me.
When that home was gone, it left me devastated. After a sinuous interval of distress, I decided to try to open myself up again to try to find that feeling of home. There were times where I thought I might have found it, but it was always missing something. Empty. I forced myself to believe that this feeling was possible with someone else, and I tried so hard to give a chance to this new individual. It felt right and it felt wrong and it made me insane.
Now… now I don’t know. I’m recognizing the love that exists from my family, but I loathe myself for having this need to fill up the feeling of ‘home’ with someone or something else. Why can’t home reside within me? This attachment to others is my poison and I want it gone.
