Going home. Leaving home.

This is my home. But I do not live here.

These are my people. Not many of them know me.

I belong here. Yet, I am a tourist.

This is where I should have always been. But life wanted it differently.

The holiday is over. We have watched this last sunset together, wishing we would see the same beautiful sight tomorrow, next week and next month. But today I am going home.

I am going home. At the same time I am leaving home.

Those of you with a split heart know. You know this feeling. Having to leave home way too often. Leaving home in order to go home.

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