I miss my name.

I miss my name.

Not just the word,

but the weight it carried within, the way it meant I belonged somewhere, that someone called me into being.

How sad it is, to forget what that feels like to wait in silence for a voice that used to be my anchor,now lost somewhere in the distance.

I miss hearing my name.

And i miss home. I miss mum. I miss dad. I miss my siblings. My bed. My room. My wallpaper. My clothes. My shoes. My coats. My journals. My ukulele. My guitar. My music stuff. My slippers. My washi tapes. My stickers. I miss my bathroom. My mirror. My vanity. My wardrobe. My hair bands. I miss my stuff. My collections. My albums. I miss my cups and mugs. My pillow. My sweater. My socks. My blanket. My rug. My spot in the couch. My laptop. My games. My bags. My shoes. My coffee maker. I miss the smell of home. The winter. The summer. The sun inside home. The figs and olives. The cats and birds. I miss the noises of people. The tv the movies. The bread. The tea. The homemade cooked meals. The warmth. The voices. I miss stupid posters on my room wall. I miss the walls of home. The floors. The wallpaper. The dining table. The rug we draw on. The paint. My books. My rock collection of memories. My memory box. My funny letters. My school books. My sketches. My whole damn life. My life.

Its not fair

Not fair at all.

Not fair

I miss my name

I want to hear my name irl

How small but hard of a wish that is.