You wake up in a strange city, where the same sun shines and yet the shadow it casts is as alien as moving a newly built prosthetic arm.
You drink the same kind of coffee in ceramic cups and yet every sip is unfamiliar to your tongue. You crave the herbal tea mother made when you both were sick, yet only she pretended to be alright.
Roads are fundamentally the same everywhere, built through sweat and cement and topped off with asphalt, but footprints take years to be imprinted, and the roots we lay down are not nearly strong enough.
You wait for rain, because you cling on to the hope that rains are the same yet the first few droplets shatter that notion. You used to curse heavy rains yet you pine for it now, as the light showers barely prick your skin.
Your feet take you to exotic locales, yet a part of you has never quite left home and never will. You dip your toes in familiar waters and wait for the day when you will finally belong.