Tuesday, 29 May 2012
Since moving out on my own I've discovered something about myself. My sense of home doesn't resonate in my writing, that's just a place I go to when I'm feeling my absolute worst and need to expunge those ill feelings. My sense of home doesn't come from the people I'm around on a daily basis, nor is it located in some far away city (read: Chicago). My home exists wherever my father and brother are, whether together or apart. That's where home truly is. That's where my heart truly is. It's taken me twenty-two years to develop a sense of identity for my home, but I know I finally have one. That's all that matters.