Home is not a place, it is a person.
We are spirits housed in bodies, with eyes for windows. Never have I seen so clearly then when our eyes met, and I looked out my window into yours. There you were underneath all your walls, and I knew that home wasn't a place we lived, but a person we loved. And for that gift of understanding, I am grateful.
When I packed up my things and set off on a new adventure, I wasn't sad to leave the things I couldn't bring, or all my old haunts and stomping grounds. I was sad to leave the shelter I've found in the people I've called home.
But leaving home isn't always what we think it is.
Sometimes you don't have to leave to feel the distance. I felt homeless that summer night I saw only pupils, where his passion used to be.
But as my friends helped me pack up my things to go follow my dreams, with "good lucks" and goodbye kisses, I learned that sometimes distance doesn't have to mean you've left home behind at all.
So where do you call home?
Or should I ask, whom?
-Stay in touch-