I ran. I kept running. Breathless, panic-stricken, desperate to reach there. It was raining with a thunderstorm. I was thoroughly soaked. I couldn't see anything in dead night's pitch black dread. Yet, with bare feet, I ran.                                       

I didn't need to see the street signs to go there.Because, I was going home. I knew, my feet knew, how to proceed.My feet could sense the way home.I was scared. I was trying to keep everything behind and have that shelter again.                                   

And finally, I was there.I reached. But, it was not there. It was the same street, same turn, same neighborhood, same place. But, I couldn't find my home. As if someone in the fairytale has lifted it up and placed somewhere else.Where, I didn't know. And started, I started crying. I was not weeping. I was howling.I stood there, yelling. I called it. I called my home. I wanted it to be there anyhow. Else what could I do? It was pouring and I was mourning.                 

And then, I decided that I won't give up. I will run and I will find it. And it can not abandon me like this, right?? Because, hey, it was my home.So, I ran. I kept running. I didn't know where to go.But, I ran sniffing like a dog would do. My senses tried to smell my home.And I never stopped until I realized that I had lost it forever. There won't be any home anymore.