Seems such a strange thing pondering myself having a home to go to, for many years it was not so. The last decade it seems has been fraught with such chaos, moving from here to there, the circle appears to broken now. No longer does life revolve around the madness of anothers addiction, the last year might be called joyful, triumphant even. I feel like I'm waiting for all hell to break lose at any moment but the days and weeks pass by and here I am wondering, contemplating thoughts of home.
The beach use to be home. Living there in a box I lost and found so many things it's unfathomable. I miss it though, the constant roar of the waves, the days where you'd wake up and look outside and think you were in heaven, the days where you wake up and wish you were dead, they all seem like a repeating dream I lived in another life so long ago.
Now I have stairs to climb and a bed to sleep in, water, running hot, and cold. Strange it is to call a place home.
Every morning I walk out a door, I descend down the stairs I walked up, into the abyss of darkness outside before the morning comes, instead of sand I have streets, the blur in the middle of these two paths is missing in my mind as if it never was.
Turning the corner, looking down the road that lies ahead I realize how truly blessed and lucky I am to have survived the missing pieces between sand and sidewalk, so many years lost in the middle. Home, at least for now I feel I'm home
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