Home??

Wanting to go home but nowhere I land feels like such a place

I want to go home,
but home isn’t a place on a map anymore.
It’s a feeling I misplaced
somewhere between surviving
and pretending I was fine.

Home used to sound like my name
spoken gently,
used to feel like doors that didn’t lock my heart out.
Now every room echoes,
and I keep unpacking ghosts instead of peace.

I want to go home—
to the version of me that still believed
rest was allowed,
that love didn’t come with conditions,
that leaving wasn’t the only way to breathe.

If you find it,
tell home I’m tired.
Tell it I’m still trying.
Tell it I’m on my way,
even if I don’t know the road yet.