“When the storm comes, my compass always points to home.” When the clouds gather and bunch together like ugly cotten swabs, and I feel more lost than ever, I try to recall that distant feeling. That place of belonging. I’ve never really felt like I belong anywhere, but everyone’s got to belong somewhere so I always told myself I wasn’t that far off. That I wasn’t exactly _lost, _but just waiting to be found.

But this compass that thinks it knows where its going, leads me in all the wrong places. Of course, Mama always told me (God bless her soul) that the heart is a compass. When you can’t find your way, it will guide you. I’ve come to realize she didn’t think that through fully. She also said that a home wasn’t a _place; _a home is the family surrounding you, holding you up and keeping you from bleeding for too long. You see, all I’ve got is myself. I’m my only family, so maybe that’s why my compass (my heart) leads me astray so much. I think that’s why I never stay in one place for too long.

At least my father got one thing right—I was always meant to go on alone.