letters from home

What is home? What does it mean to go home? Who is home for you? I ask myself these questions a lot, especially when I feel that terrible feeling of unbelonging in a space that was meant to welcome me. This week’s freewrite explores the fleeting half-formed thoughts I’ve had when considering what home is, and why it hasn’t been the same since the day my mom stopped occupying the physical space that she had in my life.

Enjoy this incoherent collection of pieces from letters I wish I could send.


all I know is that home hasn’t been the same without you…

but of course he feels that way, we miss you in everything we do…

can’t they see that they won’t get through to her like that?

don’t know if I’ll ever go back there. I really miss that cat…

every time I go home, it looks stranger and stranger to me…

finding and creating home has been equal parts strained and free…

getting into Boston Logan Airport became home…

home is having breakfast in the dining hall while browsing reddit on my phone…

Iceland was only home for about ten days, but it was home nonetheless…

Jimmy’s funeral program told me I was home when I set it down on my new desk…

keys in the bottom of my bag fit locks in places I hadn’t seen in months…

like when I start tearing up after hearing your name once…

maybe it’s just too hard not hearing back…

not that I don’t see you all the time. It gets worse when I have to start to pack…

open to therapy, of course, but so far none of those offices have held even a hint of home…

pretty much all the time. I even sometimes tear up when I take out that comb…

questions, questions, questions, and no home in the answers…

recently got the part! And now she’s a dancer…

so very proud, even though sometimes we still fight…

there’s home in the teacup that I bring with me anywhere I have to stay the night…

understand where they’re coming from, but I can’t hear them over the drumming…

vicious cycle. But I like to think of it as a becoming…

when will I get to see you again?

xylophone lessons that you’d take me to when I was ten…

yesterday, sitting there with so many of the people I love was the home-est home I’ve felt in a while…

zouk music playing in your brother’s house reminded me of your smile…

One thought on “letters from home

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