Home.
It’s a funny concept.
When I was younger, I used to think it’s a house where you live with your family… but as I grew older I realized that it’s supposed to mean something more than just walls and doors and windows and people. It’s supposed to be somewhere you belong, the one place you can always go back to, right?
And it’s not a place at all.
That’s what I used to make of it until not too long ago. (My head has had way too much time to explore those dark forsaken corners of my mind I thought I’d never have to turn to again.)
Home is starting to seem like a delusion. It’s something I’ve always been running away from.
I’m looking for someplace to belong, still am, but I know that eventually I’ll have to let go of that place and the people and everything that comes with it.
So, what’s the point?
I couldn’t make much sense of it the first time, but the second time was hard.
Maybe I should try to forget as many things as I can.
Or maybe it’s all just about making as many meaningful memories as possible, not necessarily happy ones.
I’m not even sure if I’m making any sense. But I’m definitely talking to myself again.
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Starting from the word "Home" till the asterisk, was not from me. I re-blogged it from "S". Because the mere fact that it perfectly suits me, it also felt like I've written it. Too much for emotional annoyance.
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