Red colored stars

There comes a time to think.
The icelandic ashes that turn the night skies to red are as unpredictable as my future seems to be. I have no ticket to go away, nor the certainty enough to stay. I have places to sleep, but I have no home. I have my things scattered all around the world and I wonder how, when and where we'll reunite. The answers? I wish I knew them already. Hope there's no need to sell what's left of my soul.