Me-Shaped Hole

Inspired by this post

Me-Shaped Hole

There is a Me-Shaped Hole

In my parent's house,
Which creaks and groans in mourning
In the wooden desk,
Which stands stiffly and lonely
In the old brown couch,
Which slumps in its silent space

There is a Me-Shaped Hole

In my mother's hands,
Which used to always cook for me
In my father's eyes,
Which used to nightly read to me
In my sister's mouth,
Which used to eat my food for me

There is a Me-Shaped Hole

"We miss you."

There is a Me-Shaped Hole

In my high school's bookshelves,
Which are filled with new favorites
In the scrawling whiteboard,
Which has new lessons, new tricks
In my old teacher's brain,
Which brims with new things to learn

There is a Me-Shaped Hole

In far off friends
Who ventured to distant Dreams
In misplaced classmates
Who have gone to Who-Knows-Where
In acquaintances
Who traveled to AfterLand

"I miss you too."

There is a Me-Shaped Hole

There is a Them-Shaped Hole

What Is Home?

Inspired by my mother accidentally calling my college dorm my "home."

What is home?  Frankly I can no longer tell.  About thirteen years ago I was planted in a humble house that didn't have much to it other than the foundation, the walls, and the roof.  I didn't budge for many years, but oh how my heart dreamt of going beyond the horizon, where the dull flat earth collided with the limitless expanse of the sky.  Sometimes I could envision myself floating up higher and higher, so that my fingertips could slide along the outline of the circle of the sun.  Something real would always pull me back down.

Yet what was imagined is now real, and what I thought was the future is now here.  There is a me-sized hole in my parents' house.  I call it a house because, well, I don't know what my home is anymore.  It is a new reality that I must grasp.  What is mine?  Who have I left behind?  Who is just ahead of me?  Where is my home?  My body is being stretched everywhere at once, but I can't reach far enough to touch anything.  I am suspended between wonderful, almost-forgotten memories of an old world and a new universe that becomes more and more familiar with each day I spend there.  I am no longer content in my parents' house.  They know that, and I know that, but I still think of them everyday.  I want to soar into the new and unknown, but I still embrace the olden days.  Is where I live now my home?  The question spins around my head in an endless whirl of I-don't-know.  Will I ever know?

The answer is to be decided.