• a clean, soft, perfectly comfortable bed. I’ve been sleeping on a bare mattress in my apartment all week with one blanket. the ones that don’t cover nearly enough of your body.
• a fridge with food in it. my mom has jello, and Popsicles, and water that comes in bottles… I’ve been drinking mojito flavored koolaid because it was on sale at the shit mart on the corner and bringing ramen noodles to work.
• looking at pictures on my wall in the room i grew up in and not recognizing myself in them or knowing who that girl is anymore.
this is what coming home feels like.
whatever home means to a 21 year old, anyway.
sidenote: there’s something about becoming who you’ve always wanted to be that makes you lose a part of who you are; who you were. and sometimes that part of you wasn’t so bad and you wish you could keep it. or somehow find a way to make both parts of you live in harmony together.
does that make sense?
because I usually don’t.