After four years, I feel as if I’ve done my time.
The roar of the interstate I now identify as home.
The brown grasses that crunch beneath my boots.
And yet, it still doesn’t feel like home. It doesn’t feel like home. It doesn’t feel like a place I want to come back to.
Where am I? Where is my home?
It’s not here.
It’s never been here.
But the home I once knew is gone. Erased.
I’m lost. My soul, lost.
The desolate miles of desert sagebrush mirrors my heart, empty.
I turn my face towards the bitter wind. It chafes my cheeks and snowflakes sting my skin.
But it’s all I can feel. I want to feel something. Anything.