I’ve lived in this town my whole life, and most of the time that’s fine by me. But in late fall when the sky fills with birds migrating south for the winter, traveling thousands of miles, I get homesick for places I’ve never been. Places…
…that my mind takes me to, like memories from a past life or visions of an uncertain future. I see it clearly: the house, the yard, the dogs and I see him. Well, I saw it clearly, years ago when we met and fell…hard. The future is now uncertain and I get homesick for a life I’ll never have.
But when my mind wants to play games with me, I imagine the places we’ll visit, the people we’ll meet and all the things we’ll do far away from this town. I get homesick for that, because he is my home. Isn’t that the definition of homesick? Feeling a certain loss or pang for your home when you’re not there? What does it mean to feel that way about a person?
I get homesick for the little nook between his neck and shoulder; homesick for his laughter, the touch of his hands, the stubble on his face.
Sometimes, you really can’t go home, so you dream, you reminisce, and you make peace with being homesick, because at least that feeling is familiar and missing him, knowing it never will be; that’s a feeling you know well and suddenly, it’s your home.
Originally written on 7/18/16, 10:52pm.
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
A few years ago, I bought a little book called “Complete the Story“. It has writing prompts and just asks you to get your creativity . . .