Home.

Walking through the garage door into the entry I put down my bags and hugged my roommate. We picked up where we’d left off and chatted, ate, laughed, and analyzed for the next three hours uninterrupted.

I took a long shower. Rinsing my hair with honey and apple cider vinegar and deep conditioning with argan oil. I shaved my legs and scrubbed my feet. Rolled up my hair humming to Sheryl Crow and Melissa Ethridge and shaped my eyebrows just so. I lotioned and oiled, taking care to rub coconut oil on my cuticles. I hadn’t worn make up in weeks but somehow not wearing it tonight was different. I felt the kind of beautiful you can only feel when you’re deeply rooted in peace.

I left my suitcase for another day and found my favorite kaftan laid on my bed as if I knew three weeks ago this moment would come. I slipped it on and jumped into bed. I thought for a moment about purple which was packed up in my suitcase but I thought for tonight, we could be apart.

I was home.

I’d told people, even as recent as a week ago, that I’d never been to a place that felt like that was It; Like I never wanted to leave. But as I thought about the feeling of entering the space that was ours, my roommate and I, and then mine…I realized I’d created just that. So, it seems, the term is relative. And sometimes home just sneaks up on you. Or maybe home is just the place that happens when you’re not looking for it. Maybe home is like love.

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