I don’t particularly remember the drive home from the airport. The times that the radio changed to a song I didn’t like. The moments the sun made me squint. The occasions I switched lanes or checked my mirrors. I don’t remember the mile markers or the rest stops. The exits I passed and the one I got off on.
I recall the way I thought.
How I wondered what makes a place a home. Would I call my apartment home? It felt more like home this weekend than it did when I thought about parking outside of it alone in less than an hour. Is home a place of comfort? Or a place that takes the title because of routine. If you’ve been somewhere your entire life does that make it your home or is it because you surround yourself with those that you love. Home is such a confusing word at times. If I left my home for good, then what would my destination be?
I’m not sure the answers will ever be concrete but they will be our own.
16 notes
-
greatjumpinjehosafats liked this
-
notsilly liked this
-
drydenlane said:
cuuute
-
drydenlane liked this
-
alliegators liked this
-
spinnersendvintage reblogged this from heymikewaskom
-
faganchelsea liked this
-
heymikewaskom reblogged this from claradoti
-
claradoti posted this
