Oh me.

Homesick

for a place i am not from

for a place i have not yet left

in the minutes when i remember life as a child

in the minutes when i think of winding alleys 
and the expressions on the faces of people selling fruits on the sidewalk

when i wake up and try not to remember the date

when i remember those i left far away

how it makes me want to curl up in their hugs and disappear for awhile

how i ache for wanting my cake in so many ways- and the greener grass on that other side

the differentness 

the sameness

the familiar

the new

it all pulls me

it stretches me apart

until i am not sure where my middle IS

until i decide my middle is in fact two

yes, that is how it is

yes, it will just be that way