Her life feels like a reacouring dream. Wake up, go to school, come back, repeat. She comes back from school everyday like where she’s going to is a habitat she has to adapt to but never learns how.

Her parents talk about the same thing that happened thirteen years ago, later turn the talking into screaming matches.

She should be used to it by now. Except everyday she comes to the place she supposed to call home, hoping today will be better. She knows well it won’t.

Although, her bedroom isn’t much better.

Sulking in her room for days on end, wondering when it’s going to be her turn to feel at home, feeling sorry for herself because no one else will. But she has no reason to feel the way she does

Because she has no idea where else to go and doesn’t know who she’s supposed to be.

Home. To her, home is a person. A person she hasn’t met yet. A person who will understand why she is the way she is and tell her. Take her out and away, far away from wherever she is.

She doesn’t know where or who that will be for her. Just want’s to know what it feels like, to see if even once in her life’s shes been at home and go back.

Until then, she looks over at the place she’s lived her whole life, all there is is a house

A house not a home.