THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
---|
A light wind weaves through the room. I'm not sure where it comes from, but it carries with it the smells of Germany. It teases my mind, and for a moment i am back there. I have no worries, no agenda, no fears and no plans. I am living the essence if life. Or not, but that varies from day to day. I am sitting on a bench with my friends. We are complaining about the calm of the moment, and somebody is taking a deep breath from a joint. But i'm not either of these places. I am sitting in my room in Germany, my mind screaming in a fit of stress and confusion. I am going home in two months... Home to the home that is no longer my home. I AM HOME HERE. But the ticket says "17 july", so i must go. Go back to a life with parents and school and jobs and consequences. I suppose its not really that bad. There is a cute girl waiting for me, and my friends will be there, but Its a niche i dont know if i can fill any longer. I have grown in the last year. In some ways I am worse, and in many i am better, but i am not the same. I feel as though i will be going again to a new place with nothing, and starting again from scratch. Or maybe i should stop stressing. Home will always be home, and the people there will accept the new me instantly. Somehow i doubt it though... I feel kinda stupid having writen this, cause having read it i can only think of a million bad high school poems. But its how i feel and so i will post it. |
It isn't high school, though it may sound that way, but you change and everyone else changes as well. Here's hoping all goes well when you go home. |
The Importance of Elsewhere Lonely in Ireland, since it was not home, Strangeness made sense. The salt rebuff of speech, Insisting so on difference, made me welcome: Once that was recognised, we were in touch. Their draughty streets, end-on to hills, the faint Archaic smell of dockland, like a stable, The herring-hawker's cry, dwindling, went To prove me separate, not unworkable. Living in England has no such excuse: These are my customs and establishments It would be much more serious to refuse. Here no elsewhere underwrites my existence. |
thngs ARE unchanging: the lake, the stones, the trees, the snow. The great and crazy people. Even if everyone I know leaves, it will still be my home. |
unchanging. |
|