My old friend called me last night,

She wanted to see how I was doing in the land of the unknown, it has been a long time since we talked. We used to be so close, but life and distance pulled us apart.

So she asks me;

« Do you remember when we stayed up all night talking about the meaning of life? »

Of course I did. That night, we shared our thoughts hoping to figure out the evil and the good of this world. But we never did.

Then she asks;

« Do you remember when we ran away from school together? »

I did. We ran away because we thought that being stuck in that building was the worst thing. Little did we know that that building was our shield from the outside world.

And she asks again;

« Do you think about these memories often now that you’re away? »

I do. Every single day. I think about her, I think about our other friends, about my uncles and aunts, my cousins, my teachers and everyone else that had an impact on my life. About everyone that was a piece of feeling home.

And she finally asks;

« Do you still know what being home feels like? »

I don’t. I don’t remember how it feels like to come home to the smell of a homemade meal, or how it feels like to stay up all night laughing and playing cards, or how the smiles of certain people made me feel, how having « Knefeh » for breakfast with my parents made me feel. I don’t remember what anything made me feel. I only feel the sadness for the life I had, the one I will never have again, the one that I can only relive in my head but never on this earth.

So I answer her;

« No » as my voice cracks and a tear escapes my eye, « I don’t know what Home feels like, I have forgotten »