Somewhere Between

I always felt like I was

in between—

something like home

and somewhere far away.

Never fully arriving.

Never fully leaving.

Just existing

in the space

between who I was

and who I wanted to become.

I knew the roads.

I recognized the faces.

But even in familiar places,

I carried the feeling

that I was only passing through.

Like everyone else

had roots,

and I only had directions.

I spent years

thinking I was searching

for a place.

A city.

A person.

A life

that would finally make me feel

like I belonged.

But no matter

how far I ran,

I took the distance

with me.

Because it wasn’t miles

I was trying to cross.

It was something inside me.

A quiet emptiness

that kept whispering,

Almost.

Not here.

Keep going.

So I did.

Until one day

I realized

maybe I wasn’t meant

to find home.

Maybe I was meant

to build it.

Piece by piece.

From forgiveness.

From healing.

From learning

to stop running

from the person

I kept leaving behind.

I always felt like I was

between something like home

and somewhere far away.

Maybe that’s what becoming feels like.

Not lost.

Just traveling

the long way

back to yourself.