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Thinking of a home.

Sitting in this room, in this house I now only visit, I can’t help but try to think about when this was last my home. I can’t help but try to remember when I last felt that this family, living and breathing in these walls, was my home.

It’s hard to remember and the timing’s all off in my mind. I wasn’t even legally an adult when I felt myself start to not belong any more. A few houses ago I clearly recall knowing it was no longer my home. It was just a house full of people who wanted me out.  Now I’m out and I still don’t have a home anywhere. I don’t yet quite belong anywhere.

And isn’t that what we’re all searching for? Somewhere to belong?

I guess I just want to get there.

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