Feels like home to me, Feels like home to me, feel’s like I’m all the way back where I belong.
Another airplane, Another sunny place, I’m lucky, I know, But I wanna go home, I’ve got to go home.
We’re in Michigan, the land that birthed me, broke me and forever holds me captive.
This is the place I know, the seasons I understand: Sundays at the beach with a box of wheat thins and winters with snow suited kids waddling up sledding hills. Boxes of blueberries, endless evergreen trees and miles of sparkling water.
I’m not saying it’s perfect, driving along the train tracks where my mom died or the street we used to live on still stands my hair on end and steals the air from my lungs. These streets are haunted by many ghosts, yet still they feel like a well worn hoodie and jeans. When I slip into them I feel like the purest form of myself, stripped down and comfortable in my skin, known and loved.
I want to share every bit of this with Noelle and Caedmon, to infuse this cozy Michigan beauty into their childhood memories.
So, what do I pray for? Freedom from being bound here or a window to return? Continue reading