Where is Home?

24th April, 1943. Hi journal. This might be my last entry, but aside from that, today was fine. It rained, finally. But it won’t do any good, and I fear it would do the opposite. My home is flimsy and fragile from the war going on around me. I’m scared. I’m scared they will take me from my dad. I’m scared I won’t feel home again. Scratch that. Is this my home? I don't know. I don’t know where I belong, where my home is, where I need to go. My life feels like a disease I can’t cure. My home feels like a trap I haven’t gone far enough in. But Dad said that he knew a folk, that he knew how to get away from the smoke. I want to believe him. I really want to, but can I? He’s said this.. ..Once.. ..Twice.. ..I’ve forgotten how many times. But what choice do I have? We both need to escape. I just hope they don't take him, like they took mom. Anyway, we have to start packing what we have left. Where is home at this point? Dad is sick now, I don’t know how long he’ll last. I don't know what to do. What will happen? Nevermind, I don’t have time to be scared. I have to move. Now. I have to leave Dad behind. I reached the folk my Dad knew. I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept in days. He’s helped me so much. I don’t know how to say thanks, words won’t do much, actions fix everything. I feel safe. I feel comforted. I haven’t felt that in so long. I feel like a rat who has finally realized the trap it's in… and I think I finally found a way out.