Last time when I wrote about home, there was a very clear delineation in my mind.
I had my first home, the home where I grew up.
It's the place where my parents are. Where my kitty lives. Where I know everything and everyone. I have my routines and things are comfortable.
I had my new home.
My college home.
The place I was still figuring out, where I was constantly meeting new people and learning new things.
In the past two months, those lines have been blurred. Those lines between one home and the other are no longer quite so clear.
I now have friends here. Close friends, real friends. They're my people. The ones I laugh with and cry with. Ones I know I can lean on when the times get tough. It took the times getting tough for those bonds to form.
We live together and share so much. We learn and we grow and we whine and complain.
This is my home.
Yet, I still want to go home.
I want to go to my house, I want to see my parents. When I think of that home, I think of being wrapped up in the biggest hug. It's my comfort place.
I know that I will miss this place too.
I'm all confuzzled.
I guess I can have two homes. If that's what works for me, then it's perfect.
I've also really learned that it's the people that make a place what it is. It's the people I love and miss, no matter where I am.