House arrest

You couldn't avoid it and the circumstances brought you here but now the only way, you realise to gather peace in a place that was once familiar to you is to gather them in the pieces of the past. Gathering them in your little basket of remembrances, you realise, a certain smell or an object would give you the solace that everything else and everyone else now is failing to. In a room with people you know, the tea is served,with some ideas that are obnoxiously stupid for you and plainly simple for them and your silence at the dinner table, communicating toxicity towards some of their recognitions about you. No sooner than that, you realise that there's a division . A division or maybe an unavoidable conflict between what is ought to be ideal and what's not. Distress shrouded in disagreements and soaked in daily routine, political discourse, faith and beliefs, but most importantly the discrepancies in definitions. Their inability to keep track with your ideas and your loss of tolerance. After every little skirmish you promise yourself that it's the last time you're going to be here and it's the last place you'd ever want to be at. But it's different and difficult. It's weirder than it's ought to be. With your thoughts huddling around hurricane, you familiarise yourself with the sadness that surfaces, when your subconscious takes your finger to the wrong switch on the switchboard, which once used to be correct without any chances or when you fail to find something whose whereabouts otherwise you would've known exactly or else when you miss communicating great deal of love at the same dinner table. You crave to make mistakes that had the lightest consequences,the ones that could be wept upon, loved upon and slept upon. And now where there are failures in finding a home inside the home, you sought after a lover, a friend, anyone for a refuge because sometimes, that is how it is and there's no need to scrape it. You seek the same feeling, the peaceful conscience, forgiveness and affection. But the load sometimes, is too heavy. The yearning reaches out to your roots, your bones and in reality, nothing substitutes for the home. Nothing else. And it's funny yet flaming that amidst all the disagreements, disdain and unconscious chaos, it's the only place you want to come back to. To gather your pieces, to love. But now, you're left with your little basket of remembrances..