The Space Between

This place is not home.

It took me some time to figure it out, but this is not home. Home was Sojourners'. Home was dingy carpets, a faucet handle that always fell off, late nights on the porch, our skeezy basement. Home was two years of good people and memories.

This...this is change. This is transitional. It is the place between homes. The place I live for a time before I settle in a place on my own terms. That does not make it bad, simply the place that came After.

My role shifts. I grow older, and things change. I see through a new lens. I see how I once was, how people once perceived me (though, I do not judge as harshly, because I know what the current ones are going through).

It's funny thinking about the Past. About change. About how much you depend on your surroundings.

It is also funny how much I (we, us, you) can be so content in the present, yet think so much about The Road Not Taken. About all those Maybes, Ifonlys, and Longshots.

I feel stuck between Past and Future. Stuck in this space between; this place known as the Present. Though deep down, I know it is a prison of my own choosing.