Recently I took a trip,
the destination: my homeland.
Such a strange concept,
For when I got there it felt
italic foreign. italic

Growing up an ocean away gave me a new culture.
A new perspective.
A new language.
A way of life different from my relatives.
It may be my homeland.
But it is not my home.

So where is home?
Where your family is?
Where you grew up?
Where your heart is?

It may be all of these things.
But I know home is where you feel greeted,
like an old friend.
Where each breath is fresh.
Where you feel at peace.

When I'm with you, I feel more like myself then with anyone else.
Like I'm the best version of myself.
Happy.
You make me want to tell you all my secrets.
Well, you make me comfortable,
enough to tell you
the things I hide from anyone else.
Somehow our weird friendship started to fill in all my cracks,
and all the holes my family has poked in me.
You made me feel less broken.
But little did I know,
I was making more cracks, more holes.
The way I feel about you,
makes me feel so empty,
so resoundingly hollow and alone.
Because every time you do something
that points out
how much I feel for you,
it reminds me.



how you don't feel the same.

Baring their souls on a bare page,
People can be so poetic.
I wish we spoke like this in real life.
But only sometimes,
let's not get too crazy.
Would it change anything?
Would beautiful phrases make a beautiful face?
Could i tell you everything I've ever wanted to,
because i like the way the words feel pushing through my lips?
I'm not sure.
But I guess we'll find out.