I’ve been wandering for so long,

searching for a place to call home.

The further I travel, the further away it feels.

Where is this mysterious place called home?

 

Nothing to do on a Friday night?

Distractions line up like eager salesmen.

Play loud music. Get drunk. Go out. Watch TV. Order takeaway.

Do whatever it takes.

Just don’t go home yet.

 

Go to school. Get a job. Find a lover.

Build the perfect life.

The degree. The career. The attractive spouse.

The house stands tall, yet it is furnished with emptiness.

This isn’t home.

 

The dream I’ve clung to for so long,

the thing I thought would complete me.

If I could just get there, then I’d be happy.

But the closer I get, the more I see it won’t.

This was never the way home.

 

I grind myself into exhaustion,

force myself into places I don’t belong.

Failure and pain point me down one road.

The road home.

 

Reaching out to family, friends, anyone,

But all I get is a bad connection.

Silence. Unanswered messages.

Yet if I listen closely, the message is clear:

“Please, come home.”

 

That person I feel so deeply connected to,

who doesn’t love me back.

I reach out; they pull away.

Their rejection whispers:

“It’s time to come home.”

 

The child I used to be.

Unseen, unheard, unloved.

Alone in the dark for decades.

I finally hear your cries.

I’m coming home.

 

Waves of pain, sadness, and loneliness wash over me.

I have been running from you for too long.

I am here now.

I see you. I feel you.

I hold you with love and acceptance.

I am almost home.

 

The body softens. The mind clears.

Pain dissolves into deep peace.

Welcome home.