Home, I don't know why you divided yourself. Like past and present, reality and memory, estrangement and longing, all illuminating me from two sides, leaving no room for stillness. One of you I can still see through, like a dream about to vanish. The past is about to vanish. The future is so dense, impenetrable, like a reality I cannot enter, like a memory that does not exist, a clot of recollections shaping fear. You stand, it seems, on the same ground, but I cannot tell which one of you is real. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither. Only the haze in the sky, through which the gold of sunset seeps, reminds me of a light that does not warm, yet still exists. It reminds me that somewhere beyond this fog there is warmth. But I do not know how to reach it. I suppose I am meant to be here. Two suns, two truths, two directions. And I am merely the intersection. I look at you and understand that this point in the centre is my place. But I cannot stand in it, because if I stand between two houses, between two shadows, between past and present, between two truths, I will cease to exist. There is no right side here, only dissolution into falsehood. Two home's. One shadow. And I am the invisible observer who will never be able to stand between you, because this place is already occupied by emptiness. Perhaps I am simply looking at two worlds and cannot choose either. Perhaps there is nowhere to return to. Soon you will both vanish into the darkness. And I will still stand beyond the frame, without a home, without a choice, without a shadow. #7