Where do you call home?
I do not call anywhere home.
It calls me.
The calls echo constantly.
Made from hundreds of voices of the people I love.
Spread across the vastness of our world.
The people that bind me to a sliver of earth.
Nowhere is my home.
Everywhere is my home.
A traveller since the womb.
I feel more at home in a plane than on dry land.
Likely because I know I will hear my calling again.
The calling to leave as much as it calls me to stay.
Torn in many ways, never quite whole.
Though I will never choose to be whole.
That would mean someone has stopped calling for me.
Home is where I am called to go.