"It's life, and sometimes it's all we have"

"You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden, even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone....it's like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist... Maybe that's all family really is, a group of people who miss the same imaginary place."


Sometimes, I sit in this room, this empty space. Give me any escape that won't leave this box hollow. Thunder booms in the distance. I know that echos mean more spaces left unfilled, is there anywhere whole anymore?

Maybe that's all things are-home, love-maybe they're just fillings for people searching for something that used to be there, never quite able to get it back.


I awake and step out my front door as the earth shakes.

Between the echos of these empty spaces far away, only flashes of light illuminate the paths to them. My feet are lead wavering in the wind. I stand on the precipice between heaven and hell, and i don't know which rope to cling on to. So I walk alone.

As the storm fades, and the thunder stops, darkness creeps and the world is still. Black, flat land for miles and miles, neither cold nor warm, only myself, crouching in the dust, hands tight against my knees. and static.



What if home doesn't exist?