dear home,
it’s raining as i type this letter from a place far away from you. i just had this urge to talk to you because i miss you. a lot. so very much. i’m sorry i couldn’t see you and all i can do is miss you.
i long to tell you why i cannot come to you. it’s not just because i am stuck in the place where i am at the moment by walls i built over the years by myself. it’s not just because of circumstances i cannot control and consequences i cannot get away from.
i cannot come to you because i am scared. i am scared of how much you have changed during the time i spent away from you. i cannot begin to imagine what you must look like now. you, without my grandpa. you, without my grandma. it’s like knowing i lost pieces of you i can never find again. big, important pieces, and i just know that you’ll never be the same and that terrifies me.
i feel too sad to come to you and face my father and the regrets he carry. i feel too sad to face my brother and see how much he didn’t change. i feel too sad to see the house that had once felt warm but never full, the coldness of the room that is always prepared for my return, and the people i used to hold dear and how they have moved on with their lives, unlike me, who is still stuck. i feel too sad to find out how much of your streets and corners have changed, how much of the familiar has gone away while strange took their place.
i am afraid to come to you and still miss you while i’m with you. i am afraid to finally be able to witness your sunrise and sunsets and not feel the comfort they used to give. i am afraid to look for your orange and purple skies and only find the blues. i am afraid to feel and smell your breeze and not recognize any of it. i am terrified.
dear home, i miss you and your blazing sun and your raging typhoons. i miss your endless oceans and waving roads. i miss the people who came with you. i miss the sense of belonging in you.
dear home, i pray to find my way back to you.