I have no idea what home is for me anymore.
It's not the third house this year, with new housemates and a pile of bad memories on the shelves. I don't care about the twentyfive pairs of heels in my closet. I never feel content with travelling home.
It's not my mothers place, not since years. There's a mixture of scents in the air there. Fights and anxiety, depressions and stubborness. But I still come there all the time.
It's not even the place where we go camping, though the rocks feel like freedom and I feel far away from all ********
I used to think it was in somebody else's arms, but I can no longer believe such.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
I have no idea what home is for me anymore.
It's not the third house this year, with new housemates and a pile of bad memories on the shelves. I don't care about the twentyfive pairs of heels in my closet. I never feel content with travelling home.
It's not my mothers place, not since years. There's a mixture of scents in the air there. Fights and anxiety, depressions and stubborness. But I still come there all the time.
It's not even the place where we go camping, though the rocks feel like freedom and I feel far away from all ********
I used to think it was in somebody else's arms, but I can no longer believe such.