I'm so terrified
That I will never
Be satisfied
With where I end up
In life.

The place,
The occupation,
The love interest.
All of it
Or any

The truth is,
I could be anywhere.
I could take off
In an instant
Yet here I am.

Sitting once again
In the cold of my car
In the commuter lot
Two minutes from home.
Home

Home is a feeling
Not a place.
And if I'm always at war
Inside my head,
Will I ever feel it?

Will I ever be able
To run from myself?
Or will I kid myself
Into thinking that
Mileage will destroy
All of my problems?