Home used to greet me
with open arms
and a warm hug.
Home used to smile
when I slept comfortably
beneath its blankets.
Home had my most treasured memories
locked safely in its heart; the only
keys able to open it was its fingers.
But now, home is permanently stained
with the blood of a loved one—I collapse
from afar, too shocked to come near.
Home looks at me with
guilt and sorrow in its eyes,
sorry that it failed to protect him.
And though I so desperately want to
forgive and move forward,
I just can’t seem to go back home.
No.
Not yet.