Crystalline laughter, silver tears. Happy voices, silent screams. My little
piece of heave, and my little piece of hell. Hard black rivers cutting
through the beauty of nature, the wonder of these ancient giants, and their
silent vow is lost forever for convenience, and to keep me warm at night for
now brick walls take the place of creaking oaks and swaying pines, fresh
green with the breath of spring. Fallen giants and warm fires. Hearts full
of love and hate. Home is where the heart is, that’s what they say. A
headache in the silent night, ears ring after an evening chat. My dad is
home, and so are my grades. A gripping silence, a cold sweat, an anxious
longing and a deep seeded fear, a fear of what words that little piece of
paper, with mere five letters written down upon it. A fear of how those five
letters could change my life. A hurtful glare, a harsh tongue. But home is
not always that unbearable, at least for them. Warm light shining from the
large warm bay window, faces alike warm with merriment and wine. Laughter
filling the air, all is well. Over turkey dinner no voice is raised but in
thanks and praise and yet I hide alone in my room, afraid to laugh, but even
more afraid to cry. The night is over, the wine is gone, and silence once
more takes its hold. Everyone has drawn back into their shell. Home is where
the heart is, so they say. Then why is my heart so very far away? It soars
with my mind, my cluttered thoughts and secret dreams. Sitting on the wooden
table, looking at the wonder about me I dream. It’s so different, everyone
has changed. This place has brought pain into the life of an innocent little
girl, and her heart and home as well. If my hearts not here, why does this
feel like home?
 
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