I walk the same road I've taken a hundred times. Past the bakery with the burnt bread smell, the rusted swing that still squeaks in the wind, the dog that never barks at me anymore.

It should feel like home. It used to. Yet today, everything looks like a copy of something I once knew. Close, but not quite.

People wave, but their faces blur. My smile stretches back, but it feels borrowed, like clothes that don't fit right.

Even my room... the posters, the cracks on the wall, the creak in the floor whispers a language I forgot how to speak.

I'm not far away. I'm right here. But somehow, I'm still lost. Like I took a wrong turn inside my own skin.

I miss the map I never needed before. The one that lived in my gut, that told me 'this is yours, this is safe.'

I walk slow, pretending I know where I'm going. Hoping I'll find it again... that feeling. That place that still remembers me.