Homesick

A Home That Never Was I’ve been homesick since I was small, For a place I’ve never seen at all. A house that whispers through my dreams, Its walls built out of moonlit beams. The air there hums with songs unknown, A melody etched in marrow and bone. Its doors swing wide, but I can’t go in, A phantom dwelling beneath my skin. The garden blooms with colors untold, A warmth that lingers, soft and bold. Yet when I reach to touch the ground, It fades away without a sound. I’ve searched for it in every face, In every corner, every space. But no map leads to where it lies— This home that hides behind my eyes. And still, somehow, I feel it here, In fleeting moments sharp and clear. A laugh, a smell, a fleeting breeze— It’s stitched into my memories. Perhaps this home is not a place, Not bricks nor mortar I can trace. But something deeper, something true— A longing born of me and you. So I carry it within my chest, This aching dream that won’t find rest. Homesick for what may never be— A home that’s always lived in me. - Melissa Ward