When I was sixteen
I picked up my life
And moved across state lines
To a town full of strangers
And emptiness

And though the emptiness seems cliche
There is nothing as full and rich as your home town
With its familiar faces
And places
And ways.

And so that first summer there
I floundered
I slept too much
And I ate too little
And I ached for a home that didn't even want me
Or so I thought

But it's not that I abandoned it
It's that I was taken from my home
And told to replant and cultivate roots in impossible soil
But my roots have not cracked the surface of this new "home"
But when I go back to my real home
I go to visit my roots
Where I could have grown strong and sturdy
And maybe not lost the boy I loved
And the family I'd cultivated
And the memories I missed.

If absence makes the heart grow fonder,
Then maybe I've fallen too hard for my home.

But love is love is love is love
And I love and miss my home.