I lied to myself when I said I wouldn’t miss home.
The comfort of my blood-related souls, engraving their imprints of love, laughter and safeness into me as I grew from inch to inch. The foundation of what created me. As I grew from inch to inch, newness crept its way into my life.
Leaving me in a place that wasn’t home. The place I had always known had now just become a vacation spot.
I lied to myself when I said I was ready to grow up.
Waking up to family breakfast on Sunday mornings, watching the Superbowl and getting yelled at by my mom about still being up on the night before school. I miss it all.
Adulthood hit so fast, with no warning on how to live without knowing my safe space was just downstairs.
I lied to myself when I said I wanted to change.
Miles and hours away from all I’ve known was the beginning of the existence of my future. The future I had no set plan for but knew I had to achieve. Now I am stuck.
I am stuck in a box that is mapped out of who I can be: independent, successful and responsible.
I am alone, but not lonely.
Reliving my childhood memories is all I want. Yet in order for me to elevate, I know I have to become extinct to my past.
Homesick, home away from home.
Edited by Abby Stetina | astetina@themaneater.com