"Home" is slowly becoming a foreign concept. I have a home and always will. Mostly wherever my family is is where home is. But I don't have a room anymore. I don't have a place with music posters, pink walls, change and receipts on the counters. That is a strange thing to realize. I have a place to keep my stuff at school, but it is still foreign. I still don't sleep very well when I'm here. I don't feel complete when I'm here.
That's just something I think about a lot. Being with my family was a great comfort over the past two weeks though. It gave me a new idea of "home." Home is really just a feeling. My brother and sister and I were driving on the interstate listening to this playlist with songs that we all knew the words too. Songs that reminded us of our mom, of going to concerts, of having backyard picnics and sleeping out on the trampoline. I can tell you that in that moment I felt completely at home, without even needing a physical manifestation of the place. It's like that archaeological concept. A space is only made a place by the actions within that space. My family makes my home a home. We carry our home with us. For a lack of better words, we carry it in out hearts.
It's just good to think about. Everything is moving so fast around me and it's nice to stop and know that no matter what I have this system, this glorious support, understanding, unconditional love, laughter. It's one thing that makes sense in this world. It is something to hold on to. To live for. To love for. No matter where the coordinates of this system may lay, they are always connected. They always form a home and always will.
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