Sunday Morning Blues

Twisting and turning in the middle of the night, I finally fell asleep out of exhaustion. For a moment in my dreams I was back, and so happy. But when I woke up to unfamiliar sounds and found myself back in this new place that I suddenly call home, I can't help but wonder.

I wonder if this is the right decision. I wonder if this is a detour in the journey, or have my tracks been separated. When I walk out that door, I make sure I have a smile on my face and I enjoy the way things are, or aren't, here. From the moment I leave I keep it all buried inside until I come home, when I'm so tired that I fall right asleep so that it won't catch up to me. But that's why I hate Sundays now, because it reminds me of what I don't have anymore.

Here, everything I see, hear, smell and taste feels like home. But why is it that I feel everything but at home? Perhaps in time it will subside, perhaps in time I will be stronger for it; but what if I don't want to be? What if I don't want to forget?
The past is like cancer sometimes. You've got to get rid of it or kill it somehow, but in the process you'll also be killing a lot of the good part. So what do you do? What can you do?

For now I hope to keep moving, no, running. The faster I run, the less I think and I find that very therapeutic. That's why I hate Sundays now, because there's no where to run on Sundays, just into the wall.

I hear the bell and thank god for it. Time to keep moving with a smile again.