Thursday, August 4, 2011
Pools of boiling wax.
Sometimes I want to go "home" but I don't really know what "home" is. But I guess that home can be created anywhere. Because when I think about "coming home" I don't think of my literal house; it's more about the people and the details.
This is home. I don't care what anyone else thinks about these people that I have or the way that we live or dress, because this is my home. This is where I have memories and a past.
This is home. This is the place where I grew up and fell in love and it's the place of free Thursday summer concerts. This is my family and my sisters and dinner with my parents. This is Matt Davis and the neighborhood boys and boy-stalking. This is wasting too much time and watching too many eighties movies.
This is home. This is where I can sit in dollar movie theaters and make ridiculous cards. This is the quiet of the nights in the wintertime and the relief of spring. This is my cousins on the Fourth of July. This is seeing Katie at Orange Leaf and spending millions of dollars at Hawaiian Ice. This is Kaitlyn's sweater with a hole in the shoulder.
This is home. This is Avery's cat cookies and Katie showing up in my bedroom before work. This is the time we dyed Emily's hair blue in my basement bathroom. This is yoga class with and Ms. Luse. This is feminism with Sierra and rides home in Matt's three-doored van. This is paying Zack to go out of his way for me.
This is home. This is holding hands and crying every day and dancing in parking lots and writing poetry. This is my library and these are my future-professors-of-America friends and this is my bed and my quilt and my bookshelf. This is being witty with Avery. This is reading books far too late at night.
This is home, folks. This is knowing that there will always be enough air to breathe.
We watch things on the VCR.
All my love,