napowrimo: hiraeth (day 13)

i used to think i could find home by
tracing your fingers back to where
they meet your palms but i was a child
then; naive, with a song bursting in
my heart that i never quite knew the
words to. the urge to sing that song
is sometimes a soft yearning and
other times my breath ripples
every time i offer air to my lungs,
hoping that somehow, someway
the words will diffuse into it but
it never does. a forlorn melody
that idly sits on the tip of a tongue
that will never come to know
the taste of it. maybe all that i am
is a homing pigeon that
never knew the way home.

visual: https://imgur.com/vwjsy29