And I'm a broken record, everyone is tired of hearing me bemoan my truly terrible situation. How awful it must be to be loved, to be happy, for everyone to make demands of your time. Pity me.
I knew that something would eventually force me to grow up. To face facts and strive, long even, for a change. I know that I won't wake up one day, thirty and still living with my parents. I just know.
But I didn't think it would be this.
I have no wanderlust. I'll do this anywhere, here or far away, if only to do it all the time.
Without consent, without warning, everything shifted. I'm a home girl, always have been, but now my home has changed, in place, in definition, in importance. And now I'm just static, constantly homesick.
Please, come home.