(no subject)
May 19th.
Roughly 3 days from now, I'll be back.
I'll be back to the place I used to call "home".
I'll be back "home" to lay my head.
You know, I used to think leaving was going to be the wors possible thing I could do.
I lost alot of things that meant more to me than anyone will ever realize.
But as much as I hated doing it, I did what I NEEDED to do, not what I WANTED to do,
and I left.
I came to this new place.
I met new people.
I made new friends.
I explored new things.
I did things I thought I'd never do before.
And what scared the hell out of me the most, was when I went back to visit the place where I was from,
when speaking about it I started to refer to this new place as "home".
And soon enough, I started to feel like this place really was my new "home".
Lots of things started happening to me, and I started to feel like I made the right decision coming here.
Time passed, and as I grew more and more comfortable with being here and accepting it,
I could feel it all starting to slip away.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that I’d be sitting here now, and writing this.
I knew I’d pay for ever calling this place my “home”.
I knew I’d regret ever coming here and hoping to find myself.
I was lost.
I came here.
I came here to find myself, and all I did was get more
Lost.
Now, I’m coming back to that first place.
The first place I ever called “home”.
And I wonder.
Have they forgotten about me?
Did they forget so soon?
Have I forgotten about them?
Do they still remember how we used to feel?
Am I still welcome “home”?
But I am coming back.
I am coming back, and I will make damn sure that they haven’t forgotten.
And when I leave that place again, and come back here,
I will make sure that they will not forget.
Roughly 3 days from now, I'll be back.
I'll be back to the place I used to call "home".
I'll be back "home" to lay my head.
You know, I used to think leaving was going to be the wors possible thing I could do.
I lost alot of things that meant more to me than anyone will ever realize.
But as much as I hated doing it, I did what I NEEDED to do, not what I WANTED to do,
and I left.
I came to this new place.
I met new people.
I made new friends.
I explored new things.
I did things I thought I'd never do before.
And what scared the hell out of me the most, was when I went back to visit the place where I was from,
when speaking about it I started to refer to this new place as "home".
And soon enough, I started to feel like this place really was my new "home".
Lots of things started happening to me, and I started to feel like I made the right decision coming here.
Time passed, and as I grew more and more comfortable with being here and accepting it,
I could feel it all starting to slip away.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that I’d be sitting here now, and writing this.
I knew I’d pay for ever calling this place my “home”.
I knew I’d regret ever coming here and hoping to find myself.
I was lost.
I came here.
I came here to find myself, and all I did was get more
Lost.
Now, I’m coming back to that first place.
The first place I ever called “home”.
And I wonder.
Have they forgotten about me?
Did they forget so soon?
Have I forgotten about them?
Do they still remember how we used to feel?
Am I still welcome “home”?
But I am coming back.
I am coming back, and I will make damn sure that they haven’t forgotten.
And when I leave that place again, and come back here,
I will make sure that they will not forget.