This Life

It snuck up on me in a simple question,
"Is that home for you?"

I opened my mouth to respond
and



nothing.



Just silence,
a foolish look on my face,
and an awkward pause in the conversation.

When you live this life,
home is a difficult concept.
You end up with loved ones scattered
across countries and continents.
You fall in love with so many places,
put down roots,
dig up roots,
so many times
that you don't know whether you left your heart
in London, England,
or London, Ontario.

There are so many cities,
so many apartments,
so many coffee shops and grocery stores and parks.
So many graveyards.

Each place seeps into the next.
A face on the edge of vision,
confuses space and time.
Eyes light up,
a hand is raised in greeting,
a smile breaks open,
all for someone who is thousands of miles away,
who left or was left
in a time and place far removed from this one.
The past masquerades as the present,
whispering to you until every place seems like home,
or no place seems like home.
Until you find yourself in a conversation
with yet another new face
that looks so familiar:
"Is that home for you?"
And



nothing.



Just silence,
a foolish look on your face,
and an awkward pause in the conversation.