Home is where you are

my old room, in Texas

I don't normally get homesick, but last week there was a morning I woke up feeling extremely out of place and strange and foreign. I missed Texas, family, our old friends, warm weather winters. I listened to country music and started pathetically tearing up at The Cowboy Rides Away. I took the crowded subway to our apartment, fumbled with the lock, suddenly repulsed by the city, its weird smells, nameless faces, lack of southern charm. He asked what was wrong, I told him I missed home, the open sky, the annoying cicadas at night, the familiar faces. I said I want to go back. Grabbed my hand, pressed me to him, and kindly said, home is with me. home is where we are together. I smiled, instantly feeling so much better, because I knew he was right and home is not a place but wherever I'm with him.