I'll Come Back Home

On the road. Those things I learned.

I learned to let go. Not to linger in those days of maids and mansions or those of coffee instead of lunch and feet that burn in your shoes. How do you afford to travel? Tomorrow will be unlike today and you won't last long if you try and hold on. Yesterday I mopped the floors and a month ago I sailed on a yacht.

I learned to laugh. I figured out the other day, the reason we survive it is because we laugh, and laugh and we still find it funny. Being hungry and cold and tired and we sit there and look at each others faces and smile. Because tomorrow might be a dream of kings and beautiful places even if today is starving and dirty. 

I learned to write in the dark. I usually write when I can't sleep at night because it's more honest and I'm not thinking as much, I'm just gushing insides to outsides. It's not even like thought, it's like being. It's what I meant but couldn't verbalize. I never read them again and mail them the next morning. I hope you get a letter, it means you moved me. And I'll hold my breath while I drop it into the mail slot.

I've learned to love my home. Those fall leaves I'm missing and those bitter winters when I couldn't breathe. It wasn't the winter that broke my heart it was expecting. Expecting people to be stability when I can only provide that for myself. But now I know I love my home. Not because it's safe, but because I can love any place, and that one just happens to have more people I love.

I'll come back home.