(no subject)
I studied abroad for six months and forgot twenty years; I left one home and made another. I fell in love twice - how lucky am I? - with both a place (England) and a person (for the first time, someone that loves me back [at the same time], truly). I lived with ten flatmates whom I called family, had the chance to see seven countries, made three best friends, and found one place I could see myself calling a permanent home. Yet in five days it's like I forgot six months, like it's already slipping away - how strange is the human memory! - like I'm already forgetting. I missed two kitties and one mother and two siblings and too many friends and loves to count. Now, though, even more than before, my heart remembers, misses, and lingers onto that place and person I fell in love with. And I'm here and happy and still call this place a home; yet everyday, if you open up the bag I carry with me, inside you'll find the journal (that he bought for me in our new favorite city in Italy) with the message that takes me back, even if just slightly. And so, gradually readjusting to the original home, I keep on going looking forward to the new place and person I call home.