I left my job and went home to New York.
Stayed for two weeks, without a care or a worry in the world.
I'm at a place in my life where things are changing.
My heart is changing.
My dreams are changing.
Everything, everything is changing.
Ever feel like that?
Home is good for when life changes. Whereever home is and whatever it looked and still looks like.
Home shows you who you've been. It celebrates how far you've come.
Home is the root. It's the depth of you. The place that made you, sprung you round in piles of dirt, only to grow the tall flowering soul that you are now.
Home is the catching up with old friends. The sitting around familiar tables.
The crossing over of old bridges, driving across memorized streets that etch pathways in your heart and soul.
Home is nestling your head into Mom's chest.
It's the hidden pathway to your main street.
It's digging up memories late into the night with your younger brother who remembers more than you do.
Home is knowing where the pots and the pans are. It's grandma's living room stacked with moving boxes, as you reminsence about christmas trees with tinsel memories.
Home is the hurt and the wounds and the rage and the pain.
But it's also the healing and the mending and the becoming and the wholeness.
Sometimes it's good for leaving, sometimes for styaing. It's always good for visitng.
We're all bruised and beaten.
Lost on account of many reasons.
But only love would make you understand.
Oh I love me some home.