sometimes i wish i was back home, back in time. tucked in my purple galaxy sheets, upstairs in my twin size bed. back in a time where fireflies circled my room, with a night sky full of stars alight with possibilities. where familiar had a scent and it hugged my lunges around a camp fire. where it coated my hair in chlorine from night swimming on a summer’s night. where time had a feeling and it wasn’t so scary seeming so endless. where it beat in my heart like a song that i wouldn’t dream of hearing the end of it. home. i have scars of it on my skin from playing too rough in the backyard, with friends that made the air echo with kiddish laughter. i have pieces of it scattered in this house that doesn’t fit quite right. home. where every position of the sun hit every corner just right. where i grew with each vine. each root. each moment. i shared my adolescence with a blueprint built to a house that made itself a part of me. no fourth of july is right if it isn’t in my front yard, when the sun is just setting and the sparklers are being put out on the front porch. no christmas is christmas if I’m not watching the snow fall down between the street lamps of my neighborhood from the window in the front door, waiting for santa to give me what I’ve been good for all year. no autumn is autumn without the big tree in the backyard changing into these fire burning colors that rain ashes onto the grass, amazing me every time. no spring is spring without grams taking me to the back garden, showing me the respect roots need to grow.
home. once you leave it you will never get it back. sometimes you’ll find yourself on some random street in some random time catching a sliver of it. for no particular reason. the sun will align just right, and shine just enough, to remind you of what it used to be like. how life used to be before your home became somebody else’s. before the scars you now bare are not the kind built around laughter. before you got this hole in your chest where home used to fit. and everything that came with it.
holiday’s sing, but not in the tune i used to hear it in. flowers grow, but i lost respect for the roots that took my grams away with it. the forth of july will celebrate, and i’ll go along with it but it’ll never be the same.
home.
i’ll never stop missing it. no matter how long it’s been.