If I don’t write this down, I’ll never let go of it. I’ll never find my way to say the things I’ve always wanted to say. There are places that stay stitched in your memory. Vividly that you often believe that they happened just yesterday. Memories of people, places and things and how they made you feel. Its easy to misplace these thoughts and hide them deep within ourselves. But on those days when you search to remember, you find it right where you left it. Right into the depths of your soul. On the days that I don’t feel like myself, I go searching for this place. The place that made me feel the safest, that made all the nightmares disappear. It’s amazing how your mind works when you search to remember. Because its these memories that feel like they were yesterday but reality is that it were years ago.
I find myself dreaming of that house. The house with the tiny yard in the middle of the alley. I shouldn’t be looking back, I should be always looking forward. When things get bad, I find myself running toward that house in my memory. To the gravel road and the broken fences. Back to the home that always felt so large in stature. Large in wonderment and memory. The more I think about it, the more the memories rush toward me. The light that harbors inside every corner of that house, that opened up parts of myself I often forget. I was never this negative. I was never truly this heartbroken. Once upon a time, I stretched my arms out as far as they could reach and span around in circles to dream. I felt dreams, aspirations, and believed that everything was possible. I wasn’t afraid to dream and these days I am afraid of everything. When it hurts to move on, I think of that house. That little gray house that stands in the middle of the alley. Because no matter where I go, I look toward that house to come home. Because to me, after all these years it feels like home.
It’s taken me so long to realize this but this house doesn’t feel like home. I hold my items in a house that feels fragile to the touch. We hide ourselves in rooms in the darkest corners of this house. We hide ourselves from the world, when everything used to be so out in the open. We occupy our time with being people we never intended to be. I can’t help but feel alone, feeling we lost something the moment we moved. Maybe its just me. Maybe I am the crazy one that puts too much emotion into stationary things. But some nights, I still dream that I am back there. At that little house that always felt so large in stature. That little house that always felt so open with life. That little house that felt like home to me. I’ve moved and lived in so many places. Big to biggest cities but no where feels like home. Most nights I don’t remember where I am. Most nights I dream I am somewhere else and waking up some place else. Because the point of growing up is finding where you fit in, in the world. Finding out where is home to you and where you belong.
Nothing feels like home anymore. My body is just placed in different places but none of them feel like home. Because home was where I once felt I had a family. Where I once felt like I had everything. Where my dreams were bigger than my body. I miss that. I miss outstretching my arms to the sky and spinning around in circles. I miss the feelings that went away as soon as I got older and started to forget. Its so easy to forget where you came from. To forget what brought you to the places that you’re at right at this moment. Its not that I want to forget, it just hurts too much to remember that once I was happy. Once I cared so much and believed I could be anything. Now I just feel numb, that this place doesn’t feel like me. Even though my blood, sweat, and tears formed this house, my heart never belonged here.
Never said goodbye to the house, as I should have done years ago. I never reached out my arms to the walls and said everything I wanted to say. In dreams I go back and whisper everything I feel at the moment. I tell all my secrets in dreams and forget I have to wake up eventually. I haunt myself with memories that don’t exist anymore. Looking to the past when I should be looking toward the future. But when my heart is hurting and my mind is blank, I go searching for this place. This vacant place that doesn’t exist anymore. Its been so long since I’ve been back that being face to face with it, doesn’t hold the same emotion as it once did. But once upon a time, I felt love in this house. For the longest time this was home to me. Now I have to find where I belong.
Where do I belong.