Home is pulling into the driveway and seeing my mom fling the front door open.
Home is sitting down on that one old couch in my living room that is worn down in just that one place with a bowl of nearly-stale cereal and knowing what’s on every channel.
Home is laughing at my mom because she hasn’t changed at all (she still turns our kitchen into her chemistry lab).
Home is skateboarding in the driveway with my brother while my dog chases us.
Home is finding my stack of mail on my bed, along with all my magazine subscriptions from which I’ve been going through withdrawal.
Home is eating any food I want without having to consider whether or not I have to replace it later.
Home is hearing those family arguments I didn’t think I would miss.
Home is driving through my hometown with the windows down, noticing the fall decorations on the outdoor tables of that little BBQ place and seeing the withered and glittery posters of high school spirit.
Home is listening to bluegrass music fill the house.
Home is seeing that nothing, not even the skies on football Friday night, have changed while I’ve been gone.
Home is sitting in the kitchen while every door is wide open, filling the house with the ghosts of changing seasons.
Home is watching my dog have a seizure out of excitement to see me.
Home is feeling like I never left.
Dedicated to the college students who are seeing home for the first time since August.