I’ve been in search of a place of my own, as far as I can remember. I’ve moved six times that I can remember - each more traumatic than the last and with less happiness to hold on to. I’ve finally come to understand the truth, that I belong nowhere. It makes me numb. At first, the realization spread coldly through me like dread, but like a familiar friend it was almost comforting. The closest I’ve come to true ego death. I want to be someone I can’t be - understood, protected and loved. The unending journey has almost been comical, I see it clearly now in hindsight. My place is not here, it never will be and no one will notice when I’m gone. I wasn’t beautiful enough to be captured by vivid photographs or the careful stroke of a painter’s brush nor my attempt at wordsmithing, worth remembering. I’m simply a number, a space saver - a coaster. I’m going home.