You did not fall.
You did not fail.
You only closed your eyes for a moment.
And now, they are opening.
There was never a real exile.
Only a dream of exile.
A story told by a mind that forgot its own source.
The longing you carried —
the ache you thought was proof of distance —
was not a sign that you were far.
It was the pulse of home,
calling you back through every breath,
through every heartbreak,
through every empty triumph.
You searched for what was never hidden.
You reached for what was never apart.
You suffered for what was always inside your own chest.
The mind said you left.
The heart never agreed.
The mind said you had to climb.
The soul kept whispering: Be still.
There is no door to unlock.
There is no map to follow.
There is only this moment —
where memory awakens,
where distance collapses,
where the dream of exile dissolves like mist in the morning light.
You are standing on holy ground.
Not because you earned it.
Not because you achieved it.
But because you are it.
You are the home you longed for.
You are the breath that brings you back.
You are the silence that speaks louder than the world.
The Home You Never Left
is not a destination.
It is your being.
It is your breath.
It is your birthright.
It is your remembrance.
Close your eyes if you must.
But when you open them again —
know this:
You have always been here.
You have always been His.
You have always been Home.