Why should it be strange
To sit at my desk again
After this long year
I guess that it may be true
You can never return home
My half-remembered
Previous state of being
When this was my room
Now I am a visitor
A guest in my mother’s house
My closet is filled
With clothes I have not worn for
What must be a year
Notebooks filled with my old thoughts
Now the thoughts of a stranger
I don’t recognize
How this could have been my home
All those months ago
It seems at once familiar
And like an alien world
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Midare Gami
What I feel like writing, when I feel like writing it. Rants, musings, essays, and more.
Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated.
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