I was in the clouds today, high above my problems and the people who cause me pain and the things that trigger things and thoughts and memories I do not care to feel. I was flying away from my past, back on to my future, away from familiarity and strangers. But I guess I can never really avoid those things, now can I. 
Home is such a confusing term to me lately. We always have a home right, a story, a beginning? Is that home? A feeling, a person, many persons, people, smells, patterns, habits, schedules. Home is a place or a person, home is the way we feel in a place; content, comforted, easy, loved. 
I don’t even know anymore. 
This weekend had its highs and lows, it’s realizations and stirred up past memories. I think I have finally realized the root of why my dad was who he was for so many years, maybe even why he still is that man. Maybe the fact that he will always be that man. He was powered by drive, maybe that makes no sense to you, maybe only to me. But I don’t think it could ever make any sense to anyone but me. He chose things above his family, things and places and power and money for his family, for us. But maybe his feelings weren’t always in the right place. I think I’ve always been so quick to blame and fault and judge him for how he behaved over so many years because it has always been easy to. When growing up, I guess there is really two sides to every story…
I still don’t know why he did some of the things he did, made some of the choices he did or carried out things the way he did, and maybe I’ll never know. But I know how it is now. I know that he’s trying. And I’m trying. And I guess that’s really all that I can ask of him, and of myself. As long as people are trying, then you can get somewhere. 
Home is such a confusing term to me not because I have been raised in a poor environment, for the most part I am from a caring, loving and wonderful family. And really, what family isn’t a little torn around the edges?
But home? The term and place and feeling of home still confuses me. I am 20 years old and I feel like I have a shifting home, a changing home. Some days I feel like it is the place I was born and raised in, that that place will always been engraved into me. Some days I feel like it’s a person, the person and the piece of my heart that is 8000 miles away. Some days I feel like it is forever changing, that it is temporarily this place that I’m residing in, going to school in, starting my future in
but that one day it will be some place completely new. 

I was in the clouds today, high above my problems and the people who cause me pain and the things that trigger things and thoughts and memories I do not care to feel. I was flying away from my past, back on to my future, away from familiarity and strangers. But I guess I can never really avoid those things, now can I. 

Home is such a confusing term to me lately. We always have a home right, a story, a beginning? Is that home? A feeling, a person, many persons, people, smells, patterns, habits, schedules. Home is a place or a person, home is the way we feel in a place; content, comforted, easy, loved. 

I don’t even know anymore. 

This weekend had its highs and lows, it’s realizations and stirred up past memories. I think I have finally realized the root of why my dad was who he was for so many years, maybe even why he still is that man. Maybe the fact that he will always be that man. He was powered by drive, maybe that makes no sense to you, maybe only to me. But I don’t think it could ever make any sense to anyone but me. He chose things above his family, things and places and power and money for his family, for us. But maybe his feelings weren’t always in the right place. I think I’ve always been so quick to blame and fault and judge him for how he behaved over so many years because it has always been easy to. When growing up, I guess there is really two sides to every story…

I still don’t know why he did some of the things he did, made some of the choices he did or carried out things the way he did, and maybe I’ll never know. But I know how it is now. I know that he’s trying. And I’m trying. And I guess that’s really all that I can ask of him, and of myself. As long as people are trying, then you can get somewhere. 

Home is such a confusing term to me not because I have been raised in a poor environment, for the most part I am from a caring, loving and wonderful family. And really, what family isn’t a little torn around the edges?

But home? The term and place and feeling of home still confuses me. I am 20 years old and I feel like I have a shifting home, a changing home. Some days I feel like it is the place I was born and raised in, that that place will always been engraved into me. Some days I feel like it’s a person, the person and the piece of my heart that is 8000 miles away. Some days I feel like it is forever changing, that it is temporarily this place that I’m residing in, going to school in, starting my future in

but that one day it will be some place completely new. 

  1. buthavenotlove posted this