She's Yearning for Home

I am most myself when I yearn for home. It pulls me back to when I was young, carefree, and loved—a time before I knew how to worry about tomorrow. Back to days when my only questions were what that sunlit, dust-like thing was drifting in the air when I woke, where the cicada’s song was hiding, or when the next full moon would rise. I don’t mind if it’s scrambled eggs for breakfast every day. The rice is warm and sticky—my definition of a perfect meal. Once, the days felt long and endless. I dreamed of growing up quickly so I could live life at its best. And damn, I did—only now I fear it happened too fast. I’m not sure I even know why I’m here.