homesickness

Homesickness rolls over you in waves. Past the point where you're starting to find real friends. Past the point where you're starting to share yourself in big, deep breaths and huge chunks. Past the point where you can lean comfortably against someone without being conscious of their newness. Past those points, your desire for home is renewed, recreated. It's not debilitating, just aching. It's something you walk around with, carried in your arms, while your heart grows thick with new loves. What I miss, what's missing from me. When things get hard, I will always find myself returning to nights in that kitchen, leaning against the counter while the smell of soy sauce and nutritional yeast, curry powder, filled the room. The feel of your arms around me, your lips on my cheek. And sharing everything: food, periods, dishes, worries. I will always keep remembering home, everywhere home has been.

In the midst of these strangers, their knees against my back, I glance across the room and I see you and I feel reassured and I feel like you could be family. And if not family, then at least you'll be who I go to when I feel scared. And you know I've never really done this from scratch before and you know this was what I was thinking of that day in the car with Kristy and Lindsey when we talked about strangers.
Because I never really thought that this home feeling lived anywhere else but near my mom and a few blocks away from 405 W. Green.

How do you get lucked with all these people?
How can you love so many people?
What if I explode?

There's power in love too. Talking with Charlie about why all the raves got shut down and we both know that there's danger in massive amounts of people getting together to love each other and feel good; dancing. The drugs are just the excuse given.

Our love for each other is dangerous, we can make too many beautiful things with it.
This is a love letter.
This is a love letter to Urbana, town filled with people filled with ideas filled with so much possibility.
I keep telling stories about home.
All my stories are love letters.