This is something I wrote on the 15th March 2016, and stumbled upon today. It applies just as much now as it did back then.
Where do I belong?
Why do I have this constant yearning to be anywhere but here?
People call places home. I haven’t yet found my own. Does that place even exist? Or is there a deep internal resistance to anywhere I find myself? A subconscious element I don’t have access to?
Staring out the window. The moonlight casts slivers of light through the dark trees beyond. It looks different today. Is home perhaps somewhere out there?
And sometimes I wonder…
Do I even exist in this world?