To all of the wonderful things in this world...

There is something so blissful and strange and somber about growing up and being far from home. The way that you long for what will never be the same thing, the love that is so far away that it is almost hard to feel sometimes. It is such a sweet yet draining thing to live in the past. And though it is easier said than done, it is so important to exist in the present. To try to struggle less with what you cannot change anymore. To realize that this is your life now, and you have to try and make the most of it, even when there are times where the last place you would want to be is where you are. And in a sense; that is the most beautiful part of missing home. That you appreciate and love the people far away more than you ever thought was possible. Just hearing their voice over the phone, talking about mundane parts of life and their days and the weather is enough to bring you such joy. Thinking of driving the streets and backroads and walking the trails you have known forever. Even a scent that drifts through the air, pulling your memory into a warm fall day years ago. If there is one thing I know, it is that there is no place more beautiful and full of love than where I am lucky enough to call my home.

I ache to be there.