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Sidney Chelle Dec 2018
today, i return to Massachusetts. i will step out of Logan Airport and breathe the air i haven't breathed in four months. it will taste crisp and cold. i will do my special little breath before the big one when i step outside. maybe the wind will hurt. maybe it will feel good. maybe the hurt will feel good.
today, i will be driven home by someone who drinks Dunkin and softens their R's, just a little bit. just enough for you to notice if you listen. i will look out the window for the one house with the one chimney and i will say "you can turn here."
i will pet my cats and i will lie down in my bed and when i roll over, i won't hit the wall. when i look across the room, i won't see the dark lump of my roommate in her bed. i will not hear her phone buzz quietly during the night. i will not hear people in the distance, shouting and singing and laughing.
and when i wake up tomorrow and sit up, ready to say good morning to my parents and my brother, ready to play guitar and kiss my friends and cook and drive and smile and cry, it will all be the same as before but completely different.
because i am completely different.
"you are of this place. it is changing you."
i am of Pitzer now. i am of California and sun and In N' Out and cacti and mountains and linguistics papers and psych memes and long walks and Laemmle's and McConnell and dry air and sleeping late and ramen and boba and love and friendship now.
i am forever changed.
i am happy.
to be young and free and growing up is the wilderness. we are the wilderness.
"you don't have what it takes to survive the wilderness."
i have explored the wilderness.
today, the explorer and her wild heart are going home.

— The End —