Home

I remember back in high school, I tried to write a novel length story; though I've only went as far as probably six chapters. Lately I've been reminded of the story that still sits on my hard drive entitled, "Home". Maybe the feelings I had at the time are resurfacing, but the theme I tried to instill into the story was, "Home is where the heart is." Not to sound cliché, but my heart has been wandering outside for a long time.

In the story the protagonist lives in rather lively house, but sometimes desolate. No matter the occasion he still resides in his room. However, whenever the house is empty he walks across the house in the dark without any lights on; much like me. However, he runs away with a friend...this is as far as I got. However, on his trip he learns the meaning of a "home". It's quite cheesey...

Lately, I thought I found a place where I felt welcome at. However, I think I might have overstayed my welcome. Does my heart really want to go back outside. It was fine when a feeling of a home was never there to begin with. My heart was in some form of cyrogenic sleep.

The last couple of days I realized, "Some things you just can't go back to"

-David M.