Nothing
looks familiar
anymore and
I want to go home
but nowhere
feels like
it anymore.

When bluffs
get boring
I trade them
for fields.

When two
lakes aren’t enough
I leave for
a forest of them.

Maybe it’s true
that home isn’t
a place but
a feeling.

Maybe
home
is me.

But
what if
home isn’t
a feeling,
but a person.

Maybe
home
is You.

For now
I’ll have to
carry all that
makes a home
in my bones
until I find
someone I can
unpack into