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Writer's pictureCeleste

#4: not my house

Updated: Aug 7, 2020

at first i felt alone nothing but quiet to fill the bedroom my company the occasional hum of the a/c the rattling of the cat’s collar i felt unsettled like no matter how i stuffed the pillow i couldn’t seem to close my eyes my mind was wandering running through back fields pulling up old weeds of memories keeping me awake and reminding me i wasn’t at my house


though ugly i let the feeling run its course familiar enough with it to know it comes and goes


there’s always that feeling when you move somewhere new


open drawers only to find things not in their proper place cups and pots and pans left turns right lanes green lights red signs down streets that aren’t mine soon they’ll be etched in memory no more gps to lead me i’ll roll down windows find the breeze cool against my open hand touch the sunset on the backroad to my house again


should’ve pocketed the warmth of familiarity before it was snatched from me held it close breathed it in before it became the cold text tone from those who are still home


didn’t pocket it


because no matter what people say about this this feeling of being somewhere new it’s the realest way i’ve felt the Father


reminded


i am home


so long as i’m with Him

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