I will go home next year.

I will go home next year.

I will go home next year.

It would have been 8 years since I was home.

Things have changed.

But I realize that, no matter how nomadic a person I can be, there is that one place in my heart I will always hold dear, I will always refer to as home.

Not here, not this town.

But home. Almost 10,000 miles away from here. 

Maybe I won’t ever live there anymore, maybe I will. But those things don’t matter. 

It’s home to me because that’s where the family I was born into lives. I am a part of families here too. Sometimes I think I’m American. But it is not home.

My husband believes that home is where you make it to be. I’m still struggling with that concept.

Somehow I tire myself of this town. Recently I have felt this intense yearning to get out of here.

The more yearning I feel, the stronger I miss home.

I must come back, even if only for one week.