A brief taste of "home."

Came back in the morning and walked the circles i usually did, hung out with as many as possiable, got my ears lowered, and recovered from a week that felt like it had no end.

In the late evening i walked a familir yet now forgin walk to a haunted memory. I sat in the bleechers in the upper corner and looked out at what was almost a dream, a fadded memory of a golden time.

Two shadows walking through the mist... slowly, in denial in happiness. Across the way the same two sat...and broke a promise.

Being fallowed by ghosts the entire night.

The empty spot where a tree used to stand, a parking lot where police once came, and even this morning... a work where a family once was.

Home. Like a ghost town.

the debate rings in my head of what home is...where we hang our hat, sweet home, or what to slide into after rounding third.

But if home truely is where the heart is, then there is no reffuge for me hear, nor in my sanctuary to the north. I am truely just homeless.

-Marteney