This journey is making me live in a liminal space. Never fully here or there. Always longing to be somewhere. Two homes, two key chains, two sets of everything. And I am never one. Never whole.

It keeps mending temporarily -my heart. And again, it is cleaved in two. And the scars remain. The memory of tears, of wanting, of longing, remain too. I don’t know many more of these goodbyes I can handle.

Sometimes I feel like I have two identities. Two of me. And time always feels borrowed. I always feel like I am just passing time, until I go home. And I am realizing I don’t know which direction is home, and that feels lonely. I am always saying goodbye, no matter how much I want to stay. To belong. Nobody tells you about the loneliness, for the decisions you made to stay away. Yes I chose to pursue something, but I never chose to hug them goodbyes, over and over again.

And it does not get easier, if anything, it gets heavier each time. And on the plane, I feel the weight is crushing me.

I know I am strong, hell I am tough. But I am so soft and tender and I need to crumble sometimes.

My only salvation, is that I can measure the time in years, and count them on one hand. One hand, thats all it will take.