so you're backtracking?/.

where am I?
lift up my ball gown please, check for ruffles and satin and lace and layers. They're all gone.
Stripped of dignity and loss of space, intermingling with the fiery passion to keep on hurting.
Go draw a map or something.
Make yourself lost.

Follow the instructions.

Simon (the Internet says):
home (n.)
1. A place where one lives; a residence.
2. The physical structure within which one lives, such as a house or apartment.
3. A dwelling place together with the family or social unit that occupies it; a household.
4.-a. An environment offering security and happiness.
-b. A valued place regarded as a refuge or place of origin.
5. The place, such as a country or town, where one was born or has lived for a long period.
6. The native habitat, as of a plant or animal.

Now read this:

Andrew Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew Largeman: You'll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I mean it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.
(Garden State, 2004)

So spit at my dress.
Dust off the award medals and cheap trophies.
Silent attacks of frames, curtains poisonous paint, boxes, bottles, cards, games, books, first Cd's, and pre-pubescent Polaroids.

Anywhere but here.