Is it just hitting me? Is it just setting in that this is not home? This can never be home. Home is where the heart is, and when I evacuated I left my heart behind.
I loathe the word refugee because that was my name for a few months. I was an outsider. I will forever be an outsider. They all grew up together without me.
What right do I have to complain? Some people move twelve times before they hit high school and I’ve moved once. But I was never going to be the “new girl.”
I have great friends whom I love with my whole heart. Sometimes I wonder if they care about me as much as I do about them. I wonder if the girl I consider my best friend would consider me hers or if I’m fooling myself.
I want to go back just for one day but not as a visitor, because I am a visitor wherever I go now.
I want to go to the former site of my elementary school. I want to stand where monkey bars once stood. I want to play with the memory of lost friends.
I want a scar, a tatoo, something to show the world.