“Sometimes I feel like you’re never really here.”

Someone once said that to me. I wanted to laugh a little because it’s exactly what I was thinking about myself too.

I call it being homesick, but it’s more then just missing a place, it’s everything.

Home is not just an address.

Home is family, friends, and all the familiar.

It’s first loves, first fights, first runaways, and first homecomings.
It’s the silence, it’s the screams, but it’s also the laughter.
It’s the tears and scars but it’s the smiles and bright-eyed expressions. 

It’s them.
It’s me.
It’s us. 

I call it home, but it’s more than that.

It’s unexplainable.

A feeling you didn’t know you could even experience.
A song you hum without realizing you know all the words.
A picture you paint of a place you’ve never seen but know so well.

It’s a place you spend you’re whole entire life running from. Only to come back to, feeling humbles and bashful, standing on a familiar swoop as you knock on the door you swore you’d never go back to. It’s inescapable, because it’s you. It’s inside those dark corners but it’s always part of your glow. It’s home, it’s life, it’s you.

I call it home, but it’s so much more.

The curve of the “h”, to the round “o”, and then a carefully madee “m” and ending with a carefully drawn “e”. It’s on the tip of your tongue but you don’t even need to say it anyway, it’s all in your eyes.

You’re eyes light up when you hear it.
You’re lips curve when you think it.
You’re breath gets light and airy when you speak about it.
You’re mind gets fuzzy when you think it.
You get brighter when you remember how much of you belong to it.

Because it is you, and you are it.
There are no boundaries between you and home.
Its all one warm embrace that smoothes over every previous wounds.

I call it home, but really it’s even more then that. It’s a whole life you lived before you left and flew out of the nest. And no matter where you go how how despretely you run, in the end you’ll always return. Home is not just a house, it’s not just a family, or friends. It’s all three with a billion other things and all the ways you saw it, felt it, and experiance your life in it.

No wonder we all get homesick.

We all miss the us we used to know.

It’s warm rainy days, familiar sidewalks, and traditional pizza at the local shop.

Home is lazy afternoon bleeding into each other. Continuous hours wasted on leather couches or slidinding across hardwood floors in a sun lit kitchen. Moments ticking past on a wooden clock with painted fruit that I hate(love).

It’s a huge back yard with expanses of grass and sky. It’s road with bunch of streets that fork off it leading to unknown, but familiar destinations. It’s one, two, three and so on. It’s red, orange, yellow sunsets. It’s green, blue, purple midnights. It’s black, white, and every shade of gray.

A boulevard lined with burgundy leaved trees and tiny pink flowers that only blossom for a week in the spring. Gravel beneath bare feet and sand in wet hair after a day at the shore.