How odd to look at a place that was once your home, a place where you poured your heart out, and to be told that you're merely a visitor.
How odd to roam those halls, halls that once housed your heart, and understand that there's no time to tarry.
How odd to turn corners in your home and discover something new, something you know not the story of origin.
How odd to find new faces in a place you once new everyone, yet never the prospect to add them to your life.
How odd to arrive at your old home and not have the ability to walk right in, but merely the luxury to take a stroll inside after being allowed.
How odd to be given permission to come home because, really, you are just dropping by now.
How odd to look back at the place you once held in the palm of your hand and realize you had to let it go.
Did you really? Or did time wrench it from your hands in the manner that occurs as change is wrought about in every life of men?
How odd to want to come home, only to realize, that's not your world any longer.
It makes me wonder why we even try to make sense with the world by building niches for ourselves when we need to leave them behind anyways.
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