short story with piece- Wandering through the winds of a storm. Pulled in every direction, where the way home is unclear- wherever home is now.
You left it so long ago.
The roads drove you onward, even when you wanted to step off.

The rain makes the way unclear and crystal clear all at the same time. The only light beckoning you onward is the warmth of an old Hotel sign. Not a soul around, you hoped they had some inside, but also hoped they had one more vacancy, just for you.