4/22/2022 no place like homei am no stranger to homesickness.
and most days, given the life i’ve chosen for myself, it’s something i’ve learned to live with. too often i find myself missing the saddened palms of my southern home and the rows of rainbow houses along old stone roads. i miss atlantic mornings and dewdrops on my doorstep. i miss afternoons under the shade of my angel oak, but i’m sure the soft imprint of my frame in the tall grass would find me unfamiliar now. sometimes i’m tempted to close my eyes a click my heels to see if i’d be standing on the corner of king and queen when i opened them, but then i remember that it’s not my home anymore. even more often than that, i miss my childhood street and the miles of midwestern wheat on all four sides of my home, sunsets over flattened land and the acres of blooming bushes and flourishing flowers that my mother has made her life’s work. but every time i return, i find that i’ve grown too tall for my bed and the color of my walls have changed and the clothes in my closet may as well be skeletons the way they refuse to fit my painfully adult-like body. And i go downstairs and see that the dogs are getting old and they don’t chase me the way they did years ago and my brother is no longer just a flight of stairs away, but rather 3 flights across the globe and my mother has gray hair where she used to have blonde and i look in the entryway mirror, frightened to see that i have changed too, because the last time i stood in front of it i was 16 years old and that place was still my home. but it isn’t anymore. and then comes the bittersweet realization that home is not these places that i’ve loved so dearly, but rather wherever i am. Comments are closed.
|
Proudly powered by Weebly