Coming Home

I think of home when it’s hard to remember why I strive for something that is so far away, so out of reach it’s damn near impossible to visualize. But I know, if I can only get home, it will be there waiting for me.

I have dragged my friends kicking and screaming towards the future that is uncertain. But I know we will be ok, because we are coming home, and we are almost there.

I remember a night last November, at the end of a show. The one second moment when the lights went down seemed to last an eternity. A kind of a glow lit up at the back of the hall. A smiling face on a well dressed, yet doughty lady, friendly looking.

“Who was that standing behind you in the booth?”

“We don’t let anyone up there. Nobody came up.”

We move back in soon, perhaps to a new stage.

I will stand up there. I will try to fid my light and bounce my voice off the walls.

And I wonder if she will be watching, still.

Feels like a kind of home to me.

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