I’m not sorry there’s nothing to say.
Ferndale Michigan, another notch in my belt for the multiple places I’ve visited and stayed while living my nomadic existence over the past two years. I’ve stayed and lived just about 15 different places in that short time, nothing really feels like home anymore. One of the songs that always have touched my heart is that song where the little girl sings the chorus, “Home, let me come home, home is whenever I’m with you.” I thought people in my life made me feel at home, or at least welcomed, but I I’ve gotten used to the routine that no where really will feel comfortable. I can not be alone, I can be alone, I need to be alone, I shouldn’t be alone. These are not excuses, these are just how I feel, and I often find myself feeling too many things.
Emotionally drained, exhausted, and entangled in confusion I found myself sitting on the steps of a little blue house on W. Saratoga. Sweat dripped down my sides and clung my dress to my stomach and I knew it would rain. I love the rain, every drop, every wave and current, from it dripping down my cheeks and causing an atomic bomb on top of my head, I love it.
The rain began to pour instantly as I shook my head in an emotional taunt with myself. I do this frequently. As my eyes began to water, the clouds began to pour, and they poured hard. The thunder rolled and boomed through the sky so frequently to a the shimmy of the trees it felt so chaotically orchestrated it filled me with emotions.
Lightening trickled through to the north, to the south, and to the west, I went on the porch and opened the gate and stood on the bottom of the steps. Bare toes exposed as were my head and feelings I felt lost and confused instantly and looked up and just saw thousands of diamond like drops falling towards me, it felt as though I could reach and catch them, as if my life was going so slow yet so quick. A rush came over me and I stared back at my feet. Covered in dirt and underbrush I saw the currents of rain splashing through the streets as if waves hitting the sandy beach.
Droplets hit the streets like a marble toss, trickling back up and bouncing about, it sounded as if a thousand pins hit the floor at once, my mind tousled back and forth until finally I sat beneath the extended roof over the steps. With every gust of wind a mist hit my face and I did not move.
I love the rain. I love the smell, the fuzzy glow of everything around me, Splashes of color everywhere against the muddy gray tone around me. I felt handicapped, I could not move, all I could do was sit, sit with myself, and my fears around me, I hated it, I hated dealing with myself. That was the last person I’d ever want to spend time with, as sad as that may be.
The trees began to weigh heavy with water. I know how you feel I felt crazy relating to the damn tree across from me. Drowning in things you want and need yet feeling the weight being too much to carry, dripping wet and sobbing but still standing tall I suppose. I sat a while longer as the rain began to pour and my mind wandered. Wandered about everyone and everything, and how as badly as I want this home, I can’t feel right here. No where will ever feel right.