home is a vacuum

Home sucks like a Hoover vacuum cleaner.

 

I can’t breathe here.

Like literally… I can’t.

I think I might have bronchitis. That might just explain a lot of things.

That might explain
not being able to sing for the past three weeks or so,
not being able to sleep on my back without choking,
not being able to talk

to them,

makes me feel far away and distant

in outer space,

just floating

with bad communication and hairline fractures

gasping for air.

 

I don’t know.

Just my best guess,
which is the best I ever get
nowadays.

 

limbo

“Will we ever see him again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is he?”

“He is lost. Lost himself, lost in himself. Lost in some hidden pocket of space-time. In the awkward airspace of in-betweens. That limbo in between past and present, in between dreaming and waking up… He is somewhere in there.”

“How do we bring him back?”

“We must keep his memories alive – to light his path, so to speak. But apart from that, I’m afraid he must find his way back on his own.”

“But you don’t have to leave, do you? Come, stay with us and we can go back to how things used to be… remember?
Come back home. Please.

“Home? I don’t know what that means anymore.”