Time is there, those six months, there on my calendar, crossed out days, large Xs in bold and the pages dripping from the walls from the dry weather. And though time is moving swiftly, I know how long I must spend here. I know there will be happy times, less happier times, and then those dreadful days where I miss the place I called home. Then again, that home is definitely indefinite and non-existent. It is merely a symbol and I remember once asking a friend, “Have you ever told yourself, ‘I want to go home’ only to realize that you actually were home, in that physical sense anyways. I’ve always had this idea where the concept of home is not that of a structure, but…