Home is where you are supposed to feel whole.
Home is supposed to be your anchor to keep you grounded.
It's supposed to be a safe haven, somewhere when everything else feels wrong in the world, you can go home to shield yourself from all the hurt that is being thrown at you.
Home, people say, is their happy place.
Where their heart feels content.
They say "Home is where the heart is".
If that's true then my house is not a home.
My heart is not content at my so-called "home".
I do not feel at home in my house.
When I am home, I am longing to be somewhere else.
I feel homesick.
But homesick is longing for home after being away.
But I am home. I feel empty.
My heart aches to be somewhere else so much, it causes physical pain in my chest.
But why do I feel this way?
I am surrounded by members of my family.
So why don't I feel at home?
Maybe I left my heart in a house before,
Or maybe it's in a place I have yet to be.
Do you know what to do when your house is not a home?
Or when you don't know what your heart longs for?
Because I don't

Down the luminous hallway lined with rough white walls,
murmurs from the students and teachers flowed from the classrooms.
At the end of the seemingly never-ending hall,
A bright red exit sign loomed over the cool stairwell.
Footsteps echoed as we made our way down.
Snow softly dusted down, creating a white hazed view of the world outside the window.
The halls now littered with artwork hung to the walls.
The smell of wood floats about.
Music and machines mix together overlaying the hushed voices.
Down the opposing hall, burnt coffee and the rattling of the kitchen fill the empty space
As footsteps bounce from wall to wall.
The white lights shine off trophies
Screams and squeaks, muted by the walls sound through this hall.
Hums from the dripping fountain mask the voices
Leaving them to be nothing but whispers.