You used to look for that face in the crowd. Eyes sweeping over waves of people for the North star. Brightening up once you spot the light emitting from beyond the sea. Thinking that this is it. This is your way back home.
You still look for that face in the crowd. So you can avoid the hidden whirlpool that had once swallowed you in and drowned you faster than you could think. You were looking at the North star, but didn't realize that the light you were chasing after was a mere reflection that served as a cover to the wild and wicked current beneath. You wanted to go home.
And you weren't thinking so clearly then. And maybe that's what desperation does to you. But you see now. After steering the ship straight into the deep. After the shipwreck. That wasn't your way back home.
And maybe there will never be a way back home. You have been out here so long you forget which direction you have to go. And maybe – maybe that's okay. You have a home here, with the salvaged vessel and the crooked mast and the twisted nest.
And maybe this is where you stop looking back. Maybe this is where you start going forward.
12 Jan 2019