I’m back. Home, I should call it. But home is a very fluid word in my mind. I miss my people. I only have two homes, and they are one of them.
“I’m so glad to be back,” my sister kept saying. “I’m so glad to be home,” my mom kept saying. My sister wanted to giggle with me about how different everything is, and how big, and how funny it is to see everything again and find it strange and familiar at the same time. I was quiet. I didn’t snap at her, or even gently ask her to stop, which I am rather proud of. But no, I don’t think it’s funny how different everything is. Yes, everything is enormous (the cars here are monstrous), but that’s not so very amusing. No, I don’t find everything strange and familiar, and when I do it’s not a particularly overwhelming feeling.
No, I’m not glad to be back. I need a few days before I won’t feel like crying every time I hear the word home.
I really want to see Belle again. I think that’s the only thing that will make me actually glad to be here again – seeing her. It’ll be a reminder of what it is I’ve been missing these past four years. It’ll be a reminder that I haven’t left behind everything.
I want to go home.