In my homeland I would sit and drink wine
I would look out over the coast, drink espresso in cafes, walk in mircowedges over cobblestone streets in tight brown pants and beautiful coats.
I would cook and bake and love and read and write, i would kiss my Nonna's cheek and speak with my hands.
But...
This is not my homeland and I do not drink wine
I drink beer from a keg, starbucks with pumpkin, and the coffee here is drunk sitting down.
I don't look over a coast but a concrete jungle of noise and smells that aren't fragrant or delicious
there is no kitchen for me to cook in my dorm and i wear nike shorts and bean boots and i feel this life is not a grand one

My homeland is not this place and indeed, nothing like this place and for that, i am grateful