Heart's home.

Sitting there and trying to feel something. Prominent picturesque perfection sprawled before me, blinding me with all its evidence. Waiting for my heart to gambol. Nothing. It is not possible to force feeling. Like your mother it just exists or existed. Like drinking table salt to fill the sea of memory or is it memory of the sea. But not this one. My footprints were not born here. For what crime am I being punished? As much freedom as a glass cage in an open field. An illusion presented to prove that my longing is deeper than the surface of the sand. Much deeper. It is the proverbial hole in the heart, the missing puzzle piece. It seems as though others have found their way with more complicated maps or simpler destinations. It seems as though some are not looking. But you are sure when you see those who have found it. Or more accurately have found yours. The deep green envy pounds in your heart, making you know there is life left. So it is just the situation that has to change. I hope it is always waiting and that my truth does not get more complicated then that. For at this moment I know my heart's home, I have just taken a lengthy detour with a stubborn tour guide.