There is something about this “holiday” that brings out the ugly in me. I feel like something bad always happens on this day.
Things have been molding in unexpected ways. Leaves are growing. Warmer weather is making its way through. My younger siblings are growing up. It seems like just yesterday they were children/toddlers. They are now taller then me and are easily growing into their adolescence. I’m glad I watched them grow and had the privilege of acting as a constant in their life.
There are only a few months left to package my life into boxes and move from one city unto the next. I’ve felt like a wanderer my entire life. A land in which I’ve never been able to call home. A home in which I’ve never been able to call home. As children, we moved every other year. My parents were chasing the “american dream,” and moved from one large home onto the next. I never grew up with childhood friends, I never had sleepovers, I never knew the feeling of going to school with someone for more than two years.
As the months draw into weeks, and the weeks into days, I know my heart will weigh heavier with the unfamiliar “familiar” feeling of uprooting myself again.
The difference this time, is that I will have my best friend in tow. Make that three.
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