Always Home
Describe your home.
A home is a place where you live. It's near your family, near your friends; it's a place of comfort and a place you can always return to. A home is important.
My lack of a place I can call 'home' often bothers me more than I let on, eating away at me until I fear there's nothing left. As I travel far and wide, always moving on, never looking back, I worry that the farther I am from where I started, the less that will be there for me if I return. Home stops being home if there is nothing left to return for; when there is no longer anyone you care about leaving behind.
With nothing to tie me to my home, it faded away. Am I fading away?
I ponder this as I glance around me, then stop to look more carefully, and let my eyes feast on another awe-inspiring, phenomenal and fantastically new sight. It's so different to where I've come from that I feel lost. Then I feel his hand in mine, pulling me forwards. I follow willingly, and, passing through street after street of people calling to one another, embracing each other and shouting to be heard over the incessant chatter of a thousand voices, I notice familiar things. Comforting things. These people are like the people I know. This place is the same as where I've come from, and the million places I've seen along the way.
Wonderingly processing this new information, I stumble across something in my path. His warm hand is torn from my own as I'm lost in the crowd of people, and I look down. A small child sits cross-legged on the dirt road, tears in her eyes, and my heart goes out to her.
We can't help her, no-one can. She has no family, no friends, no place to go. She won't move. In the end, we have to leave her. Always moving on.
I was wrong. I lack family, friends, and a place to live. I have no job, no money, and few possessions. But now I've seen what it truly is to have no home, and I know I'm luckier than most.
His hand finds mine again and we smile at one another. We start walking, soon to be a shape in the distance, a speck on the horizon, a tiny piece of the puzzle that makes up our world.
Always moving on. Always home.