Moving Out and Moving On

Do you
maybe only ever really
know a place
when you leave it?

A place,
sometimes a person,
or just a state of mind.
You never understand it when you have it,
see it clearly only in looking back.

Do you
maybe only ever really
know a room
when it's empty?

A room
is never truly bare,
it's haunted: by potential or memory.
What was and what could be
all contained in a single space.

Do you
maybe only ever really
know yourself
when you walk away?

Your self,
the one thing you can't escape
that you take everywhere.
If "home is where the heart is,"
you'll never leave it behind

(no matter how you try)

But I'm tired of these places I've seen,
these rooms I paced many a night.
I'm tired of people I've been within these walls.
I'm ready to try something new.
I'm itching to put up a fight.
Why did I ever let life make me small?

Here's the heart of the matter
(the weight of the world)
that I carry wherever I go:

Where the curve of the path meets the crest of the hill
and the sky arcs wide overhead
That's the only home I long for
That's the only truth I know

(On moving out of my apartment after 29 months. On to the next adventure!)