After all these transient years, time, and people

Maybe the only destination we are ever supposed to arrive at is the place of comfort in being alone.

Everything else is transit time;
Waiting rooms,
Airports,
Temporary apartments,

Childhood,
Adolescence,
Young adulthood,

The one who got away,
The one who broke your heart,
The high school friend,
The brotherly love.

That those them—they’ve all been waiting for us to be ready for that lucid moment of being content with ourselves.

That way, everywhere can feel like home and everything won’t seem so fleeting.