Upon the horizon

How much I would give for permanence, certainty and some absolutes. I live in the woeful in-betweens of expectation and aspiration, always striving and reaching, living with effort and on the strength of self-belief. As much as I have been forgotten I have forgotten myself. I cannot locate myself even in this place with a history so immense and a culture so amorphous, and home—home is a conclusion built upon premises I have not yet constructed, a destination clouded by the distance of ambition. In time to come I may not recognise it, nor may it welcome me any longer, and then we would pass each other by. Because home may be an island, but it is also shaped by the tide.