Privilege makes it a place known to all, a public entity,
while privacy envelops it with individuality.
An evasive eruption of mystery and loss, it is a foreign concept, ever elusive, it runs through space always ahead and never looking back to be sure that I follow, a parent self-assured that I will always be there; and yet, completely lost,
I am blind to its existence.
In and of itself, I can master it, define it, give it a location, but meaningless, it floats away from me, without connection or solidarity, nothingness pervades.
What is it that makes a home? I try once more to wrap it with my wounds, skin grafting and bones attaching, but the reminder being omniscient, calls out, stranger, foreigner, terms oddly permissive in their nature in allowing one meaning to override another. Human should connect us over stranger, foreigner, yet it does not, a dominance provided through dominion, defines my nationality, wherever I plot the point that grounds me in this terrestrial kingdom.
Gasping, a sigh of futility, a sigh of inequity wherever I go I am the shadow, which forms your identity, a contrast to your own definition of self and distinction, home is a privilege unavailable to me, an unimaginable entity.