a homesickness for a home you can’t return to, or that never was

Every place I’ve ever been wasn’t mine

Because I didn’t make it so

I’m fleeting 

Before I even catch my breath

I’m leaving

Before I can be left

I only pull closer

The things that want to stray

I only remember

What wouldn’t stay

I can’t feel okay

Until someone’s walking away

Xo, Rachel


I Don’t Live Here Anymore

The house smells the same

My dad’s knick-knacks all lined up

My little brother outside mowing the lawn

My little sister up in her room

Just as I left it

But I don’t live here anymore

The door remains unlocked

The stains still spot the carpet

But it’s not my tea in the cupboards

And someone new sleeps in the room

At the end of the hall

Because I don’t live here anymore

Everything on the surface

Is exactly familiar

The lake as calm as ever

The hammock in the backyard,

Frayed and worn

Just like when I lived here

But when I look closer

The cutlery has been rearranged

And the walls have been painted

Dark blue where there used to be grey

Why didn’t anyone think to tell me?

Oh, I don’t live here anymore