This city is home,
for a minute
or a day.
One day I will
work it out,
If I can stay.
The city that gave birth to me,
the city that cradled me:
is more foreign than most.
The city that taught me,
the ABC, my 123;
the city that shaped
the way I smell, taste, see
is so far from me.
Another city sang to me,
some time ago,
some distance between us,
turned it into,
the city of memories.
Musty nostalgia fills the album.
Yet another city
laughed with me,
embraced me,
shared its shorelines,
its gaiety,
and sobriety.
And then I came back to this,
this city of youth,
this place to be,
this heart of me.
I might just stay,
someday.
The Tory Obsession with Angela Rayner
6 hours ago
2 comments:
Despite the travels of life, and even settling somewhere else - home will always be home. Like a friend of mine said - home is not a place; it's s an emotion - and we never leave our childhood or its memories behind.
Thanks for that, DL. You're right. Home is a place inside. And it's filled with memories, nostalgia, and we pretty much take it with us. It's also who we are. Or a part of our make-up in some way.
And Home is my Mom. Mostly... :)
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