TRAVEL DIARY - Thanksgiving in Florida

I wrote a little about our trip to Florida for Thanksgiving here. But I also wanted to share some pictures and give you a little glimpse into our trip through a new travel diary vlog. I miss this beautiful place.


what it's like to miss someone

Missing someone is not what the internet makes it seem like. It’s not like books painted it to be. It’s not poetic like the movies. 

It’s not pretty. It’s not a single tear on a pillow at night. It’s not looking out the window longingly. It’s not seeing a couple together and turning away from the pain of the sight. It’s not a simple “I miss you" text. It’s not a melancholy journal entry. It’s not a constant thought in the back of your mind.

It’s messy. It’s hard. It’s tiring. It’s a face covered in tears that won’t stop falling and four nights of mascara smeared across your pillow. It’s looking at the landscape and feeling numb. It’s seeing a couple together and thinking, “They’re together. Good for them.” Because you know how good that feels. Being together. It’s a five page letter to try to convey as well as you can how much you love them. And that’s still not enough. It’s leaving your journal untouched for a month because there’s nothing new to say. All that your pen will write is different ways of “I miss him”. It’s an ache in your arms, a hollow stomach, and a pulsating mind.

It’s needing someone when they cannot be near.


This piece was originally posted on my tumblr earlier this week. Thought I'd share it here.


I went home

Two months into our stay here in Virginia I was able to go to Kansas to see my boyfriend.

So I went home. And I cried. And I don't know why.

I stood in my room and looked around. What felt so strange? At first I thought it was that I didn't belong. But that wasn't it at all. Though it would've been much easier.

I let my shoulders relax and laid down in my own bed, that I haven't slept in for two months. It was so comfortable. Why did it have to be so comfortable? And that was it. I belonged here.

"It's easier to not have a home," I said.
"Than to have one and leave?" He knew.

It was hard. Hard to realize that I belonged. It's easier to play the nomad card. Being a wanderer is heavily romanticized. It's easier to leave, and leave, and leave, and leave. It's easier to be numb to the remembrance of having a place that is all yours.

It's hard to belong somewhere and leave. And maybe even harder to leave it all over again.