almost home

I step into a dim entryway, the only sound a creaking door shut. I say hello to the empty space and stop. Waiting for an echo. Flipping on a light, I skip past the living room, straight into the dark hallway. I keep my eyes focused on the end that I cannot see. I stumble around the room until I reach the lamp. With a sharp click, my bedroom, that is old and yet still present, comes into light. I stand in the center and stare at my surroundings through a reflection.
I don't know if it's exactly the way I left it. I never left it the way they did. I'm still here.
The smallest sounds make the biggest noise. With every sound of home silenced, I feel as though I shouldn't be here. Like an intruder, stepping through the quiet walls of an abandoned life.
The heavy splatter of rain on the windows keep me company.
Time has stopped the world around me and I am the only life that moves. I am afraid to touch anything, open any doors. I am even afraid to look into any mirrors. Afraid that I won't find anything behind them. Afraid there is nothing to be found.
What's it like to be almost home? It's like fitting the key in the lock, and not being able to turn it.
It's like finally getting there, and realizing you haven't.