Home.
There's supposedly no place like it. The alleged place where the heart resides.
Home.
I never really realized how big an influence the place you live can have on you. But just being away from my home for a week is pushing some major limits. It's the little things I miss; the smell of my bed, the familiar color of my walls, the feel of the carpet on my arms, the sound of the house breathing around me . . . the little things that I take for granted.
Maybe you've heard the saying, "A house is built with boards and beams, but a home is built with love and dreams."
I guess I never really realized how true that was.
Because, as much as I love a change of scenery, coming home is always the best part of a vacation. It's like I chopped off a piece of my heart and left it at home; I don't feel normal until I come and get it back.
If you've never felt like this, maybe you need to stop and sniff the lily of the valleys. Could you imagine being away from your room, your things, your place for an entire year? Two? Five? Ten?
I know I can't.
You may be rolling your eyes and saying, "Why am I reading this? This girl has nothing on Emmy in the thought provoking department." (And, if you don't mind, I'd like to point out how extremely true that is.)
I guess I just wanted to see if anyone else felt the same . . . like their home was a living, breathing part of them.
I can look back on a time when another dwelling was my life; a part of me as surely as my left arm. It was a younger time; an undoubtedly happier and much less complicated one. But I refuse to call that place a home anymore. It is not somewhere I feel the need to return to; It is not somewhere I need to be inside to feel secure.
It's not my home, and it never will be again.
I'm sure there's some science-y explanation for the feeling I get when I'm at home . . . I know it may not be more than a old instinct, a chemical reaction, or some kind of whatchamahoosit doing whatever it is that particular whatchamahoosit does.
Personally, I'd prefer not to think of it like that.
Personally, I'd like it to stay unexplained . . . because, sometimes, explanation takes away the magic.
And I like the magic.
This is sims2girl . . . on her way home.
*Click*
"Mom, what are you talking about? I live in Forks."
