Not in the house I grew up in,
where silence stays longer
than comfort ever did.
Not with the people
who are supposed to be family,
but feel like strangers
I learned how to live around.
My mother isn’t there
when my heart needs her the most,
and my world split in half
when they chose separate lives.
My friends—
they have their own worlds,
their own lives,
and I can’t blame them
for not noticing mine falling apart.
I don’t even have something small,
like a warm presence beside me,
to remind me I’m not alone.
So I held onto you.
Not because I’m weak
but because you felt
like the only place
I could finally rest.
And now…
even you feel distant.
And I don’t know
where I’m supposed to go
when the one place
I called “safe”
doesn’t feel like home anymore.
