I’ve been wandering for so long,

searching for a place to belong.

The further I travel, the further away it feels.

Where is this place I keep calling home?

 

Nothing to do on a Friday night.

Distractions line up like eager salesmen.

Play music. Get drunk. Watch TV. Order takeaway.

Do whatever it takes.

Just don’t go home yet.

 

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

The degree. The career. The attractive spouse.

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

This isn’t home.

 

The ambition I’ve clung to for so long,

the goal I thought would complete me.

The closer I get, the clearer it becomes.

This was never the way home.

 

I grind myself into exhaustion,

force myself into places I don’t fit.

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. Alone.

Lost in the dark for decades.

I finally hear your cries.

I’m coming home.

 

Waves of grief wash over me.

I have been running from you for too long.

I am here now.

 

I see you. I feel you.

I am home now.

 

The body softens. The mind clears.

Pain dissolves into deep peace.

Welcome home.