The faces are just like any other faces
At least – that’s what I tell myself
But they are unfamiliar, alien to me
Or maybe
I’m the alien.
How did I get here?
I watch the leaves fall
From trees I know the names of
But they aren’t the same leaves
I used to see
In my old back yard.
Then I realized…
Home isn’t just a place
It isn’t just a building
Nor is it the people who live there
Or the belongings inside,
Home is all of
that.
And none of that.
It is how you feel
when you are there
And what you feel
when you leave.
