Five minute Friday:Long

6:54 AM

I've made these four walls my home. As much as I never wanted to.
When I look around I see the memories, surrounded by pictures of days and years past I see the spot where this happened, that happened. This isn't my home, my heart protests when I step outside into the still unknown culture. Yesterday I had to laugh at the very garish, cold, startling way the doctor talked to me. It's funny now. It wasn't at first. But it isn't home. No doctor would talk to you like that at home. He knows I'm a foreigner and sighs at having to explain things for the second time. I feel like a child at first but push the feeling aside. I am not a child. I am simply not home.

But then I enter this place. Up 49 stairs to the noise I can hear from the 28th. They like my fall decorations. They are the same as last year but no one remembered. How could they? They are only 6, 4 and 1. Everything seems new to them.

This is their home. As much as I resist that idea. These walls are not where we live any more, they are filled with our memories. They are filled with the expectant future. Something hangs in the air.....

Four more years? Perhaps five? Weren't we supposed to be gone by now. But there is a reluctance. We grasp for a reason to stay. The country is not our home, but.....there are still reasons not to leave. Friends. Work. School. Routine.

This is home. But it isn't. This is a home in the long road home. Where ever that ends up being.


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