To take this off my shoulders,
Someone take me home.’
-Machine Gun Kelly, X Ambassadors and Bebe Rexha (Home)
Chase your dreams till the ends of the abyss. Eventually you’ll find that even the darkest of nightmares are nothing but an anchor pinning you down.
An anchor gripping your limbs with such strength that they bleed streams of black. An ugly color that burns your memories with a haunt that you can’t get rid of no matter how hard you try.
‘When did all these dreams turn to nightmares?’
She’s woken up in a cold sweat, panting for breath. Her eyes dart around the alleyway in quiet fear.
It’s nothing new.
The Devil’s come to grab her in her sleep so many times it’s almost as if it’s the new norm.
She takes a deep breath, laughing softly under another gasp for air.
She’s told the Devil ‘he can’t have her,’ so many times now, she almost pities him and his efforts.
Almost.
She smirks, getting to her feet with a wipe of her now more black than blue jeans.
Livid, just like the bruises that litter her lithe arms.
Livid, like the color of her eyes that burn like an icy wound.
You’re down on your knees in this endless world of black and white, waiting for that hand of red to pull you back up to your feet.
The wind hears your words as you scream them out at the top of your lungs, the only response a bounty of silence.
It’s a never ending cycle of hate, anger, frustration, want, need, desperation, fear, hope.
HOPE.
Somewhere along the everlasting struggle you came across Hope.
The same Hope that was supposed to knock on your door years ago.
The same Hope that promised respite despite all the pain.
The same Hope that should’ve helped you to your feet every time the air was too hard to breathe.
Every time your body was shoved to the ground like a mindless ragdoll.
Every time that someone took you for granted.
Used you.
Forgot about you.
Told you that you mattered when you meant NOTHING to them.
She’s not angry at her current predicament.
Not really.
She’s learned to live with the mix of love, life and loss that bleeds through her very veins, distinguishing her as her own person.
Acceptance.
She’s had it once or twice but never for long.
‘It doesn’t last,’ she mutters to herself as she takes a step further nearly losing her footing and regaining it just as quickly,’ what do we have here?’
Her pale foot is tangled up with a strand of gold.
She leans down, picking up the other worldly necklace, polished as though it’s not been there long.
The sound of sirens close by catch her attention,and she bolts as fast as her two legs can take her.
It’s not fast enough.
You’re not alone.
Home isn’t a place.
It isn’t a roof over your head, a comfortable couch to sit on, a television set playing reruns of White Collar every Saturday night.
No.
Home is a feeling.
A people.
People that make you feel LOVED.
Love-an emotion so fragile, it’s almost too easy to shatter.
She’s being stared down by a woman that she hasn’t seen in years.
‘Your mom,’ the child services woman had told her,’ she’s been looking for you for a long time.’
The sweet hugs and kisses that she receives does nothing to placate her apprehension.
Slowly, she makes her way up to her room that has been vacant for the past two years.
Had been.
Nothing has changed.
The books that line the shelf look as untouched as ever. The pictures that cover the walls are still the same. The plush Teddy that leans against her bed which sits there as though it was just made, still has that slanted eyebrow from a close clip with a scissor due to her childish ministrations years ago.
Nothing has changed.
Nothing has changed, except her.
I’ve woken up in this world of people walking the roads with an air of trepidation that even the densest of rocks can’t break through.
I’m surrounded by beings and yet, I know that I don’t belong here.
I have somewhere to go, now.
I have a Home.
There’s a sharp knock on her window, days later.
She quietly heads over to the curtains, drawing them away to let the light of day fall into the dank room.
A smile spreads on her lips.
There’s a group of people standing on the opposite side of the glass, balancing perfectly on the small expanse of roof as though they’ve done this a million times before.
"Ready to go home?" the guy at the front says with a grin that she can’t help but mimic," or are you still exploring?"
She shakes her head once, pulling the window open, just to be embraced with open arms.
These ones don’t fill her with doubt, but, with a feeling of security.
“Take me home."
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