Nothing about this has been normal at all.
In fact, nothing has.
The adjustment to everything has taken longer than I thought it would.
Not a day goes by where I don't question why I'm here, or how soon it will be before I can leave.
I feel trapped.
Alone.
Going from one form of solitude to the other, with 'work' being the only topic of conversation. There are no distractions, only assignments and obligations to things I didn't even know I didn't want to do.
"I wish I could go home"
But I am home.
I am in my bed, in my bedroom, in the house I've lived in since before I was born. I know every crack and every nook like the back of my hand and yet I feel ostracised from my environment. Like I'm not welcome and it is an unpleasant feeling. I've made these four wall, as familiar as they are foreign, into a hiding place. A place of my own making, a place that has seen to much but knows so little and that represents something it should not even consider.
Yet,
I am at home in the magic I have created for myself, not by wanting but by default.
These walls hold magic covered by pink paint.
These walls hold magic felt through the closed curtains.
These walls hold magic glittering through the lights on the walls.
These walls hold magic when the lights are on and off.
These walls hold magic that you can feel through your toes as you stand on the ground, barefoot, breathing in the cool morning air.
These walls hold magic, my magic.
Why can't you feel it?