22 Diaries. Story five

What is a home? Where is your home?

You meticulously build your life around things and people that you know well, hoping they will never going to change. Since there was too many unwanted changes in your life. Since you’ve come out from nowhere, you plan to head somewhere. To a place that actually matters.

Eventually, you feel like you belong somewhere, like you’re in the right place. Wanted and appreciated, you know you’re going to be safe. You cosy up with the comfort in your mind, the comfort that they created.

Little do you know whom you surround yourself with. Cold-hearted people with warm smiles and welcoming arms, pretending to be your friends. Always saying the words that you want to hear, but not doing a thing.

Suddenly, you find yourself grasping for a breath when a huge spider jumps on your face and you don’t have a chance to defend yourself. All the arguments that they listen to only selectively. Again, nothing matters anymore.

Abandoned. Always unwanted. Desperately trying to belong somewhere, you blindly meander around the wrong people who know how to use you. Who suck the energy out of you and then throw you in the landfill.

Where once the home was, now there’s a hole stuffed with shredded photos that you used to take. And you realize that the only human you can rely on is yourself. And the things that you can safely surround yourself with are some old furniture and a rabbit.

© W. Donovan

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