Going Home
When I was young,
even in college when I thought I wasn't,
it was easy to go home -
back to my bedroom,
back to my bed,
back to my childhood friends.
One day,
on my way home,
I realized that I wasn't heading back to my bedroom,
my bed,
or my friends
I was heading away from my house,
from my girlfriend,
from my job and my grad school and my Tuesday night trivia game.
I had brought along essays to read for fun,
and downloadedaudio books instead of roadtrip playlists.
I was excited to see my 'old room,'
but I wasn't heading home.
I realized that I had made myself a new home,
a place of my own,
filled with love,
possibilities,
future happiness.
I didn't know what to do after I hugged my parents and walked into the house.
We were almost equals now,
and that meant I wasn't a kid anymore.
I was just visiting their lives,
taking a vacation from my own.
I don't know when my life became home,
and my home became 'my parents' house,'
but that's what they were now,
and I was my own person.