Lately I've been thinking a lot about what defines home. For some people it's the family they live with. Whether that means a mom and dad and three siblings or a group of friends from college. For some it's a specific city where they grew up. For others, it may be a room or building that they have never even slept it but have never felt more like themselves than when they are there.
I haven't decided where my home is yet. I know there are some very specific people that, no matter where I am, I know around them I can be one hundred percent me...
Maybe that's why I have always loved L.A. Regardless of the city, I've never been more at ease than when I'm with my sister.
On the same subject its funny how little things can make you realize how not at home you really are. One rude comment from a person walking through the mall. One really cold and rainy afternoon in a city where nobody drives their own cars. One night in a bed you didn't want to sleep in.
I'm realizing more and more that I can't stay here...but I'm not sure exactly where I'm supposed to go.
But I know who I'm inviting to come visit.
1 comment:
and i know its me.. you are inviting me right?
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