I think I've lost myself and I am on a quest on my way back. I am a house filled with far too may corridors and nooks with cobwebs dangling from the ceiling, a result of neglect. my voice is echoing in the never ending growing house that is me, sometimes a whisper, softly mumbling words I don’t know the mening of, other times my voice cracks the very foundation, making the light go out and collapsing into the dark abyss. sabotaging myself on this journey of finding home when my very voice makes the path crumble. lend me a match, a source of light, making this a little easier, even though I want to, no, need to do this on my own. share some of your many maps, which I know you have, of this house. of me. lend me your pinkie finger, show me the way, since you know this house better than i do.
searching this house is like opening one door to find one thing, salvation from this burning sensation, only to find fuel in forms of memories I never want to relive. let me be free from you, I say, and I shall have all the time to find my way. what if you are my home. what a troublesome thought.