Generic

thousands of miles from where
my name means something
in a city where no one knows me—
it still feels like home.
not the warm kind.
not the kind with open arms
and someone waiting at the door.
the quieter kind.
the colder kind.
the kind i’ve known
for as long as i can remember.
i’ve always known loneliness.
it was never loud.
just steady.
like breath.
like background noise.
somewhere along the way,
it stopped feeling unfamiliar.
it unpacked its bags.
stayed.
and in some strange way,
that worked for me.
i watch people ache for closeness,
for softness,
for someone.
i act along.
i play the part.
but i don’t know how to explain—
i find comfort in being alone.
not because i don’t know love.
not because no one’s waiting back home.
but because even in the arms of those i love,
loneliness stayed.
and now,
it’s just a part of me.
like muscle memory.
like the back of my hand.
this stillness
isn’t sadness.
it’s just
home

Home