Home is where...
Snapshot: me standing over an open cake box, digging another fork (or spoon, whichever is clean) into a chocolate cake, dinner for the second night running. Snapshot: me locking myself in the bedroom before I go to sleep at night, still afraid of what might crawl out of my full-length mirror in the dead of night.
All is quiet, constantly, except for the muffled thud of doors closing in hallways around my apartment. I may not speak to another soul before going into work again the next day. Occasionally in the mornings, I perform a morning vocal check just to make sure my voice hasn't gone all adolescent-boy overnight.
I won't miss the humidity in the air or the low-hanging clouds that always threatened to burst. I won't miss the security of knowing where the best gas stations / breakfast spots / lattes are found. I won't feel homesick for the rough and tumble swampland and kitschy culture that I grew to appreciate and love. And I will not cry.
I'll comfort myself with TV reruns. And blogs. Your blogs that read to me of home and of feeling nestled in a place where I feel known, embraced and accepted.