HomeTime is weird.Home by spyed
I spent months in a vortex winding, and winding.
And finally wound in to a tunnel.
Tubular and long, I'm walking through it.
The end isn't a thought or a sight.
No cliche's about light, just tunnel.
And I'm thrilled about it.
Walking straight and diligently forward.
Every day the scenery repeats.
My actions repeat, with mild differences.
There's only one sadness.
Life burns quickly, like the wick of a bomb.
And the tunnel is the wick.
And again there's progress.
Achievement and reward.
An unexpected departure.
I want to find my way back.
I'm scrambling, moving shifting fixing talking screaming.
Sleep is a memory, time tumbles, patterns disappear.
I look forward to returning more than anything else.
With a whoosh, it's back.
The first day is different than the others.
It's particularly exciting to organize the pace.
The next day it's as it was.
And I'm home.