You wear the casualties
on your nomad sleeve.
‘Homeland’ has become a dirty word
in your vocabulary.

Here, but someplace else.
Home, but never belonging.
Blessed to have a roof over your head,
yet it always feels painfully heavy.



I am starting to search for you less
in the faces of other ghosts.
The sad songs are just sad songs,
unattached to my past life with you.
I do not find the tears inescapable
when I am brushing my teeth
or making my morning coffee.

Your arms are no longer my home.
Your home is no longer my shelter.

You are just you—
beautiful, human,
someone who needed to happen to me.
I am just me—
resilient, unyielding,
hellbent on thriving without you.