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.