When home doesn't feel like home anymore

You see the picture on the left side? How do you feel about it? How do you think the little girls feel like?
Can you hear her prayer, her need to be loved, to find a home?
It's like every inch of her screams something like:"Please, take me home and love me, and I'll promise I'll be a good girl."

I wonder, what do you call home? Is is the place you were borned? Where you grew up? Where you spend most of the time now? Is it the place where your family lives? Home for you is it a house or a city?

And then, tell me what would you do if one day, what you used to call home, doesn't feel like home anymore.

I'm back to where I used to have a home. But it doesn't feel like that anymore. I feel as if I'm visiting the ruins of something wich was once great. I see many people, some familiar faces, places where I used to hang around or pass by every day. But I feel like everything's empty here. Many people, but still, you can smell loneliness in the air. Sad people, with broken dreams. Tired after a hardworking day. Sad when they should be celebrating, be grateful for everything they have.

I'm back in the city where I was borned, where I grew up. But I can't go back to my apartment. I don't live there anymore.  There are strangers sitting at my window, sleeping in my bed, taking a bath in the bathroom I liked so much. I must go to a different home, among strangers with smiling face on the surface and bad intentions. People I don't like, people I have nothing in common with.

I'm home, but this is not my home. It's just my mom's home. I'm just passing by...
Every time I come back here, I like it less and less and realise I don't wanna come back, I wish I could stay away from this place. It's depressing. It makes me fall into old patterns. That's something I won't accept.  I just wanna be happy, be pleased with myself, and the only way to achieve that is to stay away from this place. For me it's like a place filled with darkness. It makes my light weak. It makes me scared, insecure, anxious.

So...this is not my home.
That means...Now I'm homeless.

For me home is not a place. Home is...where I'm happy. Home is the place where nothing else matters, where I can sneak in bed under a blanket and feel content.
I think...home is a person. Home is the one who takes away all of your worries simply by being next to you. Home is he who makes me happy just by letting me rest my head on his his chest. Home is he who makes me feel safe simply by holding me in his arms. Home is he who's able to feed me with his love.With him I'd feel like home, happy, even if we were so poor that we would've been forced to split a slice of bread, even if we had to sleep under a tree.

Home is not a place where you body feels comfortable.
Home is the person your heart finds peace with.

© 2009-2010 (satmaya) All Rights Reserved

3 comentarii:

Adi alias Imprimescu 3 decembrie 2010, 23:48  

Stau si ma intreb ce te-o fi inspirat sa scrii asta pari tanara destul incat pentru unul care se apropie de 40 si apreciaza ce si cum scrii sa nu inteleaga . Him , apropo , da le ia cineva de nevasta pe astea ,aiurea intreb , ca tot nu pricep . ok scuze ca am gandit un pic cu voce tare .

satmaya 4 decembrie 2010, 21:34  

Multumesc de apreciere.
Nu doar par, sunt tanara, 20 de ani am. :)
Nu stiu...nu stau sa ma gandesc mereu la ce ma determina sa scriu anumite lucruri...pur si simplu scriu ce simt, gandesc, ce vad in jur...

Auuuu...de-ai stii cati fraieri se gasesc sa isi doreasca o asemenea nevasta, ca n-au ei habar de ce-i asteapta. Le place dramatismul...si-l vor avea din plin.

satmaya 4 decembrie 2010, 23:57  

Prin "astea" te refereai la cele pe care le-am numit eu afurisite, nu?

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