Less than 12 hours, I'll be driving to the airport...
I'm freshly showered. I'm looking around this bedroom where I have slept sporadically over the past almost-decade and realizing how much of my life is not here. I have ziploc bags to pack, clove cigarettes to tuck away, boxes and DVDs to arrange in the big suitcase to go back home. I've had a phone call almost every night I've been here, various daily workings of his updating about life going on without me here. We don't mention we miss each other; it's like we're ignoring that I'm several states away instead of twenty minutes. I'll defrost spaghetti sauce for dinner, and we'll act as though the last five nights didn't happen. I'll resume my life back in the North with the knowledge that my parents know my intentions. I'll talk with Cookie!Pony about applying for addictions counseling, start studying for my GREs, and get my life back together. 2010 was a helluva run, but I cannot survive the continuance of this year.
So, I'll pack. I'll sleep in the bigger bed and snuggle under my pillow fortress. I'll wake up tomorrow a little less lonely because I'll know I'm coming home. Aunt Franny will pick me up, we'll gallivant around my city, and I'll unlock the doors to Six-Foot-Three and relish in my scent versus Momma's. We'll drink water, I'll update her on Florida, and then Fidget will show up later.
I'm flying without my crucifix again, this time not even in my purse. The clasp will eventually get fixed, and I'll go back to blinging with Jesus. I'll continue on with my little life complete with good friends, good stories, and an awesome apartment. 2010 finally coalesced into being something I could be proud of- myself. This was only a vacation with a heavy-hitting story; telling my parents I'm not moving home. We're currently at an impasse, as they won't move North either. But we still love each other, and I'm still a plane ride away. It's possible I could move South once I get that all-important Degree, but right now, I need to be in Baltimore.
We discussed playing chess, debating about if you would be playing for honor against my father. We discussed dinner, you suggesting a hoagie while I recommended my (and Momma's) spaghetti sauce. We discussed clove cigarettes, and how you stated it would be the best Christmas ever. I heard my voice drop, how my father was ear hustling the conversation. You make me happy and long for the North more than I have in years. I want to be back in your actual presence; I miss my hair smelling like you instead of the salt. This bed smells like me instead of us. I don't have the muscle memory right now. I sporadically smirk when I think of us, and then promptly check myself because I have become That Girl.
One day, I hope you'll come to Florida. I'll show you this house in the sky. I'll drive you around this too-big city. I'll show you the ocean I swam in my childhood, and the plethora of childhood homes. I'll show you my history.
Right now, I just want to come home. It's odd to say that, for me to consider Baltimore home, when this time last year, I would have thought it was anything but. However, now, in this year, as I sit at this laptop for the sixth year in a row, Baltimore is home. For right now, I want to be in my too-short apartment with my too-tall boyfriend and feel his heartbeat through his chest behind me as he waxes sarcastic about some dumb movie I've made him suffer through. I want to go back to my wallicle and figure out what happened with my clients for the two days I wasn't there. I want to discuss with Cookie!Pony the options for my future and get those initials after my name. I want to drive Onyx through the rough sections of the city, finding the quicker way home.
By this time tomorrow, I'll hopefully be in my own bed with my boyfriend. We would have caught up on the five-ish days apart; he would offer his clinical opinion while I flailed about. We would have had our own Christmas. He would have eaten sgetti. I wouldn't need heat in the bedroom due to his werewolf-like state. I would have made sure my heels were ready for me in the morning...
... and made sure he had a clean shirt for work.
So, I'll pack. I'll sleep in the bigger bed and snuggle under my pillow fortress. I'll wake up tomorrow a little less lonely because I'll know I'm coming home. Aunt Franny will pick me up, we'll gallivant around my city, and I'll unlock the doors to Six-Foot-Three and relish in my scent versus Momma's. We'll drink water, I'll update her on Florida, and then Fidget will show up later.
I'm flying without my crucifix again, this time not even in my purse. The clasp will eventually get fixed, and I'll go back to blinging with Jesus. I'll continue on with my little life complete with good friends, good stories, and an awesome apartment. 2010 finally coalesced into being something I could be proud of- myself. This was only a vacation with a heavy-hitting story; telling my parents I'm not moving home. We're currently at an impasse, as they won't move North either. But we still love each other, and I'm still a plane ride away. It's possible I could move South once I get that all-important Degree, but right now, I need to be in Baltimore.
We discussed playing chess, debating about if you would be playing for honor against my father. We discussed dinner, you suggesting a hoagie while I recommended my (and Momma's) spaghetti sauce. We discussed clove cigarettes, and how you stated it would be the best Christmas ever. I heard my voice drop, how my father was ear hustling the conversation. You make me happy and long for the North more than I have in years. I want to be back in your actual presence; I miss my hair smelling like you instead of the salt. This bed smells like me instead of us. I don't have the muscle memory right now. I sporadically smirk when I think of us, and then promptly check myself because I have become That Girl.
One day, I hope you'll come to Florida. I'll show you this house in the sky. I'll drive you around this too-big city. I'll show you the ocean I swam in my childhood, and the plethora of childhood homes. I'll show you my history.
Right now, I just want to come home. It's odd to say that, for me to consider Baltimore home, when this time last year, I would have thought it was anything but. However, now, in this year, as I sit at this laptop for the sixth year in a row, Baltimore is home. For right now, I want to be in my too-short apartment with my too-tall boyfriend and feel his heartbeat through his chest behind me as he waxes sarcastic about some dumb movie I've made him suffer through. I want to go back to my wallicle and figure out what happened with my clients for the two days I wasn't there. I want to discuss with Cookie!Pony the options for my future and get those initials after my name. I want to drive Onyx through the rough sections of the city, finding the quicker way home.
By this time tomorrow, I'll hopefully be in my own bed with my boyfriend. We would have caught up on the five-ish days apart; he would offer his clinical opinion while I flailed about. We would have had our own Christmas. He would have eaten sgetti. I wouldn't need heat in the bedroom due to his werewolf-like state. I would have made sure my heels were ready for me in the morning...
... and made sure he had a clean shirt for work.