This Place

There is a day that comes, always,

for everyone, when your home is no

longer your home, but the home of

strangers, and your normal is strange,

and your strange is normal. A balloon

has always been growing between you

and it; your home, your place, but you do

not notice until it is too late and you are

gone and replaced. You hear the same voice

as thousands that have come before have heard,

telling you that this place is the best place of

your life and that you will miss it, and that you

will never be as good and that you are

hopeless and lost.

But there is a second day that comes and

another voice that tells you,

soothingly and calmly,

that this place was never yours to start,

but will remain yours forever.

For this place is more than a building,

or hallways. It is the place that you have

locked, deep inside of you. It is

the laughter and the cries, and the

arguments. It is the plane journey you

almost did not take, and the rainbow exam

that you almost did not sit. It is The Librarian

and The Child, it is The Explosion

and The Man. It is the silent cacophony

of childhood and adulthood

and it is

Yours, forever.


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