Nothing Feels Like Home Anymore

The door closes.
It’s quiet.

Too quiet
to feel safe.

I sit
in the same corner.

Where memories
still breathe.

Where I last
heard their voice.

Home was warm.
Once.

Now it's cold.
Even with sun.

The walls
don’t speak.

But they echo
everything.

Every fight.
Every goodbye.

Every moment
I pretended not to care.

The bed is made.
The light is soft.

Still,
it doesn’t feel right.

It doesn't feel
like mine.

The air feels heavy.
Like regret.

Like things
left unsaid.

I try music.
I try sleep.

Nothing works.
Not anymore.

I used to dream
in this room.

Now I just
wait for morning.

And morning
comes too slow.

I move things.
Shift furniture.

Change sheets.
Still hollow.

Still haunted.
By silence.

By the past.
By what was.

They say
“Home is a feeling.”

Then where
do I go

when I don’t
feel at all?

I walk around.
Touch pictures.

No answers.
No peace.

I sit again.
Same corner.

Same questions.
Same ache.

Nothing feels
like home anymore.

And maybe
that’s the truth

I’ve been
running from.