Homes and Houses

If HOME is where my story began, There are things that are hard to understand. And if such things are really true, There are many things I never knew. After many years, supposedly, I went HOME To the place where for years I used to roam. When I arrived and looked around, I cried inside. I felt strangely alone, like I no longer belonged. Supposedly, because when I arrived, my HOME was still there. Supposedly, because there was no one I knew, and the HOUSE was not there. Supposedly, because HOUSES once filled with life, and made things look and feel like a lovely little town, were removed or torn down. Yes, HOME was there but only in my mind, in the form of my many childhood memories, the kind of family treasures recorded in diaries. But I was sad and felt lost, and in reality, there were losses. Everything I once treasured there had been completely tossed. It was painful, and like a sponge, I absorbed what I felt and saw. Like having been robbed, I felt cold as ice that was hard to thaw. If HOME is where my story began, Why is HOME so hard to understand? 072522PS