displacement

With my impending move nearing by the second, I have come to realize that I am, inso facto, homeless.

I have had "houses", but there never was, nor ever will be a place, a concrete location, that is "Home".

It really isn't nearly as depressing as it seems.

This realization came upon me last night. With all my worldly possessions having being stripped from my latest house, I found myself having to lay my head upon one of the polyester encased pillows which are so commonly found within hotels, like the Sheraton where I stayed last night. After a scrumptious supper at the fabulous Second avenue grill, I found myself discussing evening plans with my brother, and asked him if he would be coming home to sleep that night. It was then that I realized I had just referred to the Sheraton as home. It was not the last time I did it that night either.

Is home simply for me where I lay my head? Where I keep some necessities (and some luxuries) at hand, and am comfortable? After travelling the world I am comfortable in almost any setting. Now I am in a condo right on the river beside the Broadway bridge. Here I will sleep until I leave Saturday and already have I slipped into the mistake of calling it Home. In Europe I had two semi-permanent locations, both to which I referred to as home, and whilst in Paris I even found Mandolin's comfy apartment receiving said title. I am a nomad my friend. My mom comments on how i move into every space as soon as I enter (the truck normally) but move out just as quickly. I am not "living" in my living room... simply existing as best I know how.

I have memories linked to locations sure. I have had some fantastic houses, shared times in them with fantastic people, and am grateful for all of these moments. I just am a little jealous is all.

Well, Home is where you are. Remember that everyone. I'm home, today tomorrow... always, now that is comforting.

Saying: I am beyond your peripheral vision, so you might want to turn your head.
Song: Tell Me by Dropping Daylight