Not My Home

I’m writing this while I lay in a bed that’s not mine, within a house that is not my home.

Yesterday, as I was driving to work I saw a horrific sight. A dreadfully gruesome sight. There were two dogs just feet apart, lifeless, on the side of the road. One looked like a husky and the other a lab. There was no blood, no tire marks, no presence of an accident whatsoever.

My mind goes straight to, “Should I go to all these houses that are spread out and tell them? Maybe it’s their dogs? Should I check and see if they really are gone?” Then, my mind goes, they are Josh and Adam.

My heart faded into black. I felt a cold rush start from my feet and shoot up into my head. Both of my brother’s must have felt like they just ran right out into traffic. I know they were scared and froze in times when they needed to run back to safety. Sometimes that is exactly how I feel. I’m paralyzed with all these bulky, hasty masses speeding past me and I’m unresponsive. I can’t blink, breath, talk…I’m confined to this space.

This space which has no restfulness, no compassion, no pity, no encouragement. It’s desolate. It has no warmth. When I try to move it’s as if I’ve grown roots from my calcaneus and they extend straight from my heel into this pit of ash. I can’t fight to pull any harder because I’m so tired.

All this is so tiring. My emotions, my thoughts, the way something can trigger ideas that seem so out of whack.



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