Home. I want to be there. You ask, "How can you not be home when you haven't gone anywhere?" My answer: I haven't really been home for two years. And since last October, my home has been about 3,000 miles away from here. It's where I'll be able to start my new life and write a new chapter for myself. Strange that I'm homesick for a faraway place I've only visited once.
Maybe because I'm ready to feel again, ready to live again. And every time we say goodbye, my heart and emotions are put on hold once again. It's a tense feeling, but mercifully makes life pass by with dull heartache rather that gut-wrenching pain. You know how whenever you are on the phone with someone and placed on hold, you get an almost suspenseful feeling until you are reconnected? That's me. I've felt this suspenseful, waiting emotion for two years (with the exception of a few weeks here and there). Contact or no. I don't feel home unless I am with him. I don't feel really alive unless he is by my side.
You might call me an obsessive, co-dependent sap. Or a lovesick piece of uselessness. But you will most likely never understand and never experience long-distance, long-term separation. It is not for the faint of heart. If anything, you should dive to your knees and shout to the heavens how grateful you are that you've never had to go through this. I don't care if your life sucks or if your relationship is in the dumps. If you've gotten to wake up next to them more than 28 days of your whole stinking life, you've got it pretty damn good. Excuse me if I can't muster up any sympathy for your petty little problems.
I just want to go home. I want to be free, with my love.
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