Not Quite Home Anymore

It smelled like crayons
and Sunday pancakes,
walls sometimes bright
with laughter and buzz
of ordinary days.

I learned heartache there
in the darkest nights.
Locked doors,
promises breaking
room by room.

I grew up carrying echoes,
patching the broken parts
with scraps of hope.

Now I find healing
in small places.
Counting cracks in the sidewalk
along Maple Street,
the old bench by the river,
a text from a friend: You okay?

I never thought
home would feel
like a place I don't belong.

Caught between worlds,
I keep walking,
carrying the pieces I left behind,
searching for the ones
that still fit.