Home is many places, spliced apart. Miles away.

Home is separated by backroads and highways,

By student drivers and truck stops. 

Home is an hour away, 2 hours away, 6 hours away 12 hours away from where I stand. 

They say home is where your heart is.

I loved my home, the one-story home where my bedroom was

Not even 40 feet away from my parents, 

Where the neighbors could hear us from their dining room 

When the arguments got loud and the next morning on the bus 

They were there. As comfort, like home. 

But home doesn’t follow you across the world. 

You are standing on a rock where home shifts ever so far with everything you were, 

My past is literally drifting away, I am nothing but memories of where I was once home. 

Home I now a disconnected house where rooms span far and wide in lonely silence

Home is not cold, but it is distinct of life and sound

I feel alone with my memories, of a distant home in a distant time.