Where Longing Calls Home
There is a particular kind of hunger
That learns to live without being fed.
And perhaps the cruelest mercy:
Even the compass bends towards the star it cannot touch,
And mine has never learned another north.
So I let the longing stay,
Knowing I was never meant to find my way out
From wandering beneath the same unreachable sky,
For I feared
That home, once found would wrench the way to you.
Copyright © Teesha Matarage | Year Posted 2026
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