Maybe I'm getting old..

And so it was that time again.
The bed is covered with piles of different sorts.
The head is full of thoughts.
Waiting for the day it becomes normal.
It never happens.
Always the same when time runs out.
Here I stand, wanting to mix two worlds.
Impossible wish,
hopeless hopeing.
Time to head home, which in itself is not difficult.
The difficulty sets in when you're leaving home,
at the same time.
Maybe I'm getting old.
But the excitment of having two homes,
two worlds far away from each other.
It gets harder and harder to understand,
to see the point.
Maybe I'm getting old,
maybe I'm just getting sick of it.