home

has stopped feeling like home to me. I don’t really quite understand, but it feels like I’m impartial to where I stay. I feel amorphous, in part I just do and move wherever I need to and stopped really caring about what I do and who I’m with. Everything feels foreign in part and yet nothing does either. 

I can’t really imagine where I’ll be in the future, and with that future being so fucking soon I’m anxious. It’s not a matter of not having goals, it’s a matter of not knowing if I’ll achieve them. I can’t imagine where I might be, who I might live with, how okay my family might be, none of it. Well I lied, I think what I really want to do is just express myself, in any form that I can, and make my name known to some extent. I truly believe art is the only thing humans are blessed and made for, because it’s what we leave behind when all our bones and flesh finally return. Everyone is just oh so fucking special, regardless of who they might be or their situation, and I want to at least share what makes me special. But how do I when I don’t know my story either?

It’s hard for me to understand how I feel at all, a man that can only describe himself as impartial to all and so lacking of a definite identity. In one of my most formative essays I’ve written I talked about how it felt like everyone’s been leaving me behind, and I feel growing up that it might be the opposite. I’m always constantly moving and shifting, a new hobby every week, a little more knowledge gained every day, new friend group and new activities, and so on. What you don’t see me do is ever really stay with that one group, as I leave just as fast as I come and move onto the next thing that I want to do and the next people I want to spend time with. You can even see it in my music, where I spend hardly any time with the artists and bands I once so dearly loved. Perhaps I’m the one always moving, leaving everyone and everything else behind, keeping the pieces in my heart. Perhaps I’m interested in everything, yet committed to nothing as I keep exploring, keep changing my views and keep moving forward. 

It really does suck though not to understand anything as home. It makes it hard to feel like I belong, like I might be lacking some part of what it means to be human in part. People always form the groups they build, turning them into families they can stick with, but I never do that; I never tie myself down and end up leaving once again to find more and more, in part always drifting and forever lost. It’s a lonely thing, yet at the same time it leads to less discomfort when the people I hold onto aren’t there. I just simply move on.

The bed I’m on as I write this feels so foreign, so uncomfortable even after the years I’ve spent sleeping on it. But in just a couple days I’ll get used to it, and then when I inevitably leave it’ll go back to being a stranger just as fast, like it always has.