Home

When people think about home a house appears in their mind, but what if the meaning of home is not a place or a house? What if it is a person? At least for me was a person, my dear Anna.

Since long time ago, I lost my beloved person. I lost my home. I’m homeless.

Now, I keep moving from place to place convincing myself that someday I’ll be able to forget her, even though my heart and soul always answer me that that will never be possible. Because the day I lost her, I lost the place where I knew I could always come back when things went wrong. That’s why you have to learn that life is unfair, happy ever after doesn’t exist in real life, things don’t always go the way you want and people don’t survive miracousely, instead, they die.

I have the right to say that, even though if people say I’m pessimist, but I only see reality as it is, because when they go through the same situations I have went through they will stop calling me that way.

Sometimes when I close my eyes, I swear I can still feel her sweet fragrance when I was hugging her tightly, I can feel her lips on mine while she kissed me, and I can feel her near me. Alive.

When that happens, I push myself to open my eyes and come back to the real world, where I’m supposed to live. And when someone asks me about her, I remind myself not to feel attached with someone dead, because I can’t keep reading the same page of the book that won’t let me turn to the next one.

But still I’m happy, because I know things aren’t forever, I know this sufferment isn’t forever, I know one day I will be able to come back home. Meanwhile, I will live as much as I can for her. I made her a promise and not willing to break it. I’m going to live the way she wanted me to live, so I can deserve the privilege to go back home.