naked and the rain

“My heart sits on the sideline while my mind plays the game.”


Ever felt naked?

Not like, ‘oops-I-forgot-to-put-my-underwear-on’ naked but the real ‘holy-fuck-people-can-see-right-through-me’ naked…

In my past experience (which is a whole like 18 years worth) I’ve never felt truly naked, I’ve always had one layer of protection on at least, and those who have made me feel naked were probably quickly removed from my life.

I’m a protective sort of person, apparently even my sleeping position says so, besides the way my body contorts while I’m dreaming unmentionable things, I know I’m protective because it’s how I’ve grown up.

I visited home yesterday, my first day back in two weeks (pathetic, I know, but I didn’t have enough room for my guitar on the first trip) and already that place that I had called home was more of a house again. Sure, nothing much had changed (I lie, a fair bit had changed) but even though my furniture hasn’t been moved within the last three years and I’m pretty sure the dints on the wall will never be fixed, it wasn’t my room anymore. There wasn’t any me in the house. There was nothing to stake a claim there, and I didn’t know how to deal with that.

I’d lost my home just with the simple point of moving away to go to Uni, and the thing that annoyed me was that nobody had told me how much it sucks to feel as though your life has been lifted up off the ground and is floating somewhere in the atmosphere. I miss the ground, I don’t trip so much.

Still, I guess there is a sort of happiness attached to my new room, even if I can’t dance in it like a spaz. All my stuff is here, even my name scrawled on the wall (Arscott forgive me) and in time this place may become a home but currently I’m without port.

I don’t think I ever expected to feel this way, I’m fairly good at adapting so to find that I hadn’t actually adapted, was un-nerving. I don’t really know what to do with myself so I’m writing here, and I will probably spend the whole night writing and ignoring the raging party that’ll be engulfing the courtyard.

So to summarise:

Home isn’t home and Uni is just that… Uni.

You never know though, all my dreams may come true and I’ll be out of here quicker than you can say ‘home’.

– Cal.

The marks, are they there?

Rough against the smooth lines…

Brush over them, a story to read.

Can you read the marks?


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