A Little Place Called Home
Sometimes, you just want to go home. Not the literal house, the place you called home, the place where you grew up. You want to go home again, to where everyone knew you, where you could be you. You want to go home again, to the people you grew up with and knew all your secrets. You want to have all those care-free times and nights again, where you looked at the stars and thought about all that pretentious stuff and how you'd make it big one day. You want to attend all those parties again, where you dance like no one's watching and sing along to all your jams loud enough to let the whole neighborhood in. You want to laugh at all those pointless jokes again, you want to feel the tears coming out of your eyes while you hold your stomach, laughing so hard. You want to drive your dad's car again, feel the rush as you sneak out with his keys and feel the cool wind hit your face while you're pulling out of the driveway. You want to pop your head out of the window on family drives again and feel so free. You want to act all grumpy so your parents can try to make it up to you again, just for you to give in to them after you've had enough pampering. You want to go back to your first kiss again, you want to feel that nervousness before it and the rush that follows. You want to throw your bag and clothes in any corner of the house again, you're too tired today, somebody else will pick them up after you. You want to be sick again, so your siblings and parents can give you the special attention that you can do without. You want to feel anxious again, when it felt like it was the end of the world because something didn't go your way or how everyone said it should go. You want to feel those moments, those nights, those days, those sorrows, those joys, just once again. Sometimes, you just really do feel like going home again.