Whoever said that has never been truly home. Whoever believes that has never seen this boy spend the last mile of his “homeward” journey, everyday, wiping tears from his cheeks, hoping to find his one true destination. He never wanted to be his mother’s son and his father’s lost child. Nor would he be his mother’s wayward offspring and his father’s prodigal son. But there’s nothing between, only choices, this shed and the mirror puddles from which he could see nothing but his bewildered self.
Alone in this shelter that is neither north, east, south nor west, nobody sees him. Nobody truly cares. Nobody can even tell where the rain ends and the tears begin.
These are the things we refuse to understand but already know too well.
Today, I silently mourn for this rancid cesspool of a world that reeks of fathers and mothers like his.
re-post from 2007