Home or somewhere far away from it?

Hunza Ghanchi, Pakistan

I am two light years away from people who call me their own, which is to say we’re inaccessible to one another. out of contact.
The only thing that has passed down in my family are emotions that cannot be contained but parts of me are overflowing with them from the inside.
I am persistently refuelling my desire to burst open.

[ forbidden love, exile and some home-cooked meals ]

five steps away from home means I have forgotten to take something important with me. ten steps mean, oftentimes, I'm thinking about the people I left behind. Being one step near my home means I want to be a 100 steps away.
immediately or else I will be constantly overwhelmed.

when I am home, I am in exile
and breathing is heavier than the words I hoard inside of me

once every two years you leave home for once
and the things that crash down on you cannot be identified — they are nameless.

when I am on the road to being away
I think about things out of my reach
things I have forgotten
or things I do not want to remember
about death being so distant
my grandfather’s ghost
about the absence of my memories
me gradually fading into the background of reality
about how to stop wondering about things that cannot be grasped, held or remembered.

would it be okay if I was somewhere in-between home and far away (from it?)

Hunza is a 18 years-old Pakistani writer-poet. Their work compromises of and combines hand-written texts and doodle-art, and often photography and reference artwork as well to illuminate the themes of grief, home, self-awareness, survival, and romanticism of the mundane. They are also dabbling around with literary non-fiction. Hunza’s work was also recognised by and published in a local e-magazine. Besides writing, she enjoys sports, nature walks, and reading.