Familiar

Home is familiar.

Home is a flurry of feelings, brought on like memory.

A smell, a touch, a voice.

A single inhale of an autumn candle or the crackle of a burning fire. The smell of rain as drops pitter-patter the roof. The first crunch of snow in a silent storm.

There are the lush green scapes and mountaintops; void of harsh manmade "clanks."

Yet occasionally, Its the bustling streets and fellow hurting humans.

I'm there when I hear you speak, as every word builds a wall around my tempered heart.

But home can shatter like glass when the words hit wrong.

Home is familiar.

I've been lonely for so long that it has been my home.

The desperation, the fear, the hurt.

Clinging to the past and hiding from the future. Keeling over in hunger pains. Reeling from the friends I've made.

Dark alleyways and shadows along the road like I'm looking for my ghost.

An hour long shower, head against the wall. The salt lines washed away in shame.

Too stoned, Too drunk. Anxious and afraid.

Home changes. Home is always familiar