I want to run through the empty streets, and feel something constant under my feet...
Who? What? Where? When? Why? How? When I learned about question words in elementary school, I never realized how much weight they could carry in one moment of life. Actually... in every moment of every day. At six, the questions were much simpler, but no less important. Who is your teacher? What color is the sky? When is lunch? Why do things die? How do you tie shoes? Lately, I've realized how much I still think like I did when I was a child. Now, the questions are changing, but somethings are more the same. Who am I? What do I want from life? When is it just time to move out and on? Why does life hurt so much sometimes? How can I know what to do? Somehow, I figured out the answers for my six year old self. I'm sure I'll figure out the answers for my twenty-one year old self; it just seems like such a daunting task.
The older I get, the more homesick I am. I think I'm so grown up and so ready to be on my own, but I don't want to be alone. It's hard to feel prepared to take on the world when you find yourself sitting in your mom's bed at midnight because you're scared of the noise of a tree scraping against the house, or crying yourself to sleep because your cat (and even at 21 one of your oldest friends) has died. Hypothetically, of course.
I don't think I'll ever grow up to a point when there's not something comforting and constant about being home. Or thinking about home. The problem is the old cliche that says you can never go home again. I can go home, but eventually I have to be home for someone else. I guess there was a part of me, even at age five, that knew that once I got on the school bus I'd never really get off and come home good again.