My land that is no more.

Being from so many places at once, you risk being from nowhere at all.

I claim to be from the land where my roots fist spread. I believe that land will never be replaced. The land of my origins.

Leaving is easy and exhilarating. Coming back is what scares me the most. But I can’t help coming back. That’s the only thing in my life I can swear will never change.

I will keep coming back as much as I can hate it sometimes.

I am rooted to a land that is no longer my own. As much as my grip tightens on those roots, my land will keep treating me as a foreigner.

I dread coming back each time, becuse each time my land becomes less of my own.

Miña Terra, I love you, I have left you but not desserted you. Why is it then, that I’m condemned to feeling exiled?



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