I want to go home…
but nobody told me where the hell that is.
Is it a place?
A person?
A version of me that slipped through my fingers
like smoke I tried to hold too tight?
Because this—
this right here—
this doesn’t feel like home.
This feels like waiting rooms
and unanswered prayers,
like sitting in a body
that doesn’t fit right anymore.
I walk through days like a ghost with a heartbeat,
smiling just enough
to keep people from asking questions
I don’t have the strength to answer.
“Are you okay?”
Yeah.
Sure.
I’ve mastered the art of lying
with steady eyes and a cracking soul.
But inside—
inside I am screaming for something
I can’t name.
I want to go home.
I want the kind of quiet
that doesn’t feel lonely.
The kind of warmth
that doesn’t burn.
The kind of love
that doesn’t feel like I’m borrowing it
on borrowed time.
Because right now…
everything feels temporary.
Like I’m living in a life
that was meant for someone else,
wearing their skin,
speaking their lines,
waiting for the moment
someone realizes I don’t belong here.
And maybe that’s it.
Maybe home
isn’t a place on a map
but a feeling in your chest
that says,
“You’re allowed to exist here.”
And I—
God, I miss that feeling.
I miss waking up
without this weight sitting on my ribs
like it pays rent.
I miss breathing
without it feeling like work.
I miss me.
Or maybe…
I miss the me I never got to be.
The one who felt safe.
The one who didn’t have to fight
just to get through a single damn day.
The one who knew where home was
without having to ask.
Because right now?
Home feels like a memory
I never actually lived.
And I am so tired
of pretending
this emptiness
isn’t swallowing me whole.
I want to go home.
Not the house with walls—
not the place people expect me to return to—
but the place my heart keeps reaching for
like it’s just out of sight,
just out of reach,
just—
gone.
So if you see me
staring off into nothing,
understand this:
I’m not lost.
I’m searching.
For a place,
a feeling,
a version of myself
that finally whispers back—
“You made it.”
“You’re safe.”
“You’re home.”