The weather is insane. I am almost insane. I woke up at 6 in the morning fully awake, went back to bed and felt sleepy when I woke at 9 again. Now my bedsheets are changed into Christmas spirit, red and blue and whites (one month to go). There I lay the first time I woke up to sunlight, and Vanessa Carlton sings "we're back, we're back in San Francisco and you tell me I am home" and I hold for breaths, and I fear for lost time just as I always have, lost people lost memories. Maybe I've been silently missing home for two years it becomes a threat, maybe this other life isn't enough to replace the old replica of tropical weather or friends or my room my piano my marble tiles. If I could, I want to have both but I can't be two places at once, and in the end it's about choice.
If next week when I walk out of the terminal building smelling heat and cigarettes, tell me I am home.
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