Most people would think that I had a home. I live in a place. My parents live in a place. But neither of those places are home. I grew up in a place, and it used to be home, but I’ve not had one since I left there in 8th grade. Not in my heart.
Since that time, I have been looking for home. Someplace where my head and my heart feel equally at peace. I’ve never found it. No place that I can love. No place that I long for when I’m away. No place that I want to stay for the rest of my life. No place that I would want to be buried. No place where I have memories of a life lived happily.
They say home is where the heart is, but my heart is lost. It’s not sure where to go, or where to be. It hasn’t found the way home. Not yet.
But I am still looking.