beyond the map

Staring at the cracked pavement, the lines blur. Home used to be a feeling, a compass needle always pointing true. Now, it feels like a half-remembered melody, the notes jumbled and out of reach. Is it a place I can return to, or has it transformed into something more? Maybe "home" isn't a destination at all, but a sense of belonging I have to rediscover, step by imperfect step.