Home Is Were the Heart Is

Your feet drag as you leave the warmth of your father's car. Where is you umbrella? The rain hits your face and slides down your jacket. You can't bring yourself to pull the hood up, because the rain, which you though would be cold and stabbing, is welcoming on your skin. Maybe it would be better if you stood there just for a little longer, so that the rain will wash away all those memories and scars.

Your feet drag as you get closer to your front door. The welcome mat sitting out in front of the entrance reminds you of goodbyes and cold stares instead of open arms waiting for you to step in and be embraced. How ironic, home is were all the pain begins.

The cat you had seen hidding from the rain under a car has left its refuge and has somehow ended up walking through your block. If you're tender and nice enough, it might come to you when you beckon it over, but you know how you lack both of those things. Actually, everyone lacks them, even if they tried to fake it. Since the beginning, human hearts have been carved from stone that try to act with life. Pathetic. They remind you of your father.

As the rain pounds the earth with unending cries, you finally step inside and let memories and feelings enter your being, overpowering your senses. You see those same shadows from before walk through the rooms, sit on chairs and open doors. If they could just decide what they want...

The End

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