All I can think of in this time in my life, is that I am torn between places, faces, where to call home, and not being able to choose what to do or where to go that will please others; please me. Life has been inconsistent and pulled apart; yet, I have been able to find more comfort in the places I have been stretched into that didn't comprehend the syllables that fell out of my mouth and off of my lips. I found no help in whether to want this or to want that, only knowing that everything is different, and that I'm in between the choice of stability or the choice of freedom.

I became alive while laying in parks and dancing through forests and I dreamed of a world where I didn't have to choose, and there were no what-ifs. I became lost in the thought of how this was a fairytale, while running my hands through flowers that stood as tall as my slumped shoulders that were caused by trying to hide from the day that was going to take me from the place that had captured me. My movement in life was stagnant, but I was met with the backroads I roamed until I found my way home.

I began to move, to change, flowing with sun as it rises and sets. I have never felt as home as I did stuck between the reigning mountains, or hobbling along on memorized cobblestone streets that I couldn't pronounce the name of. I once longed for the ever-long days filled with sun, but quickly found comfort in the changing of seasons and the rainy springs. I became used to the mornings that turned into long afternoons filled with laughter, picnics and music to fill the silence when there was nothing to talk about except the day, when time would fly and it wasn't just me existing in a city with people who once felt the same way as me. Now all I can think of, is that I miss the place that once called me its own in a language that I yearned to call mine, and how times were much simpler when I lived at home.