I remember counting days to disappear again, into a summer bliss.
Now I’m sitting here in my living room trying to figure out what to do. Tomorrow I’ll be heading for the mountains again, those tops that seem so high you could climb them and touch the sky. Another though my brain promotes that leads to solace.
This summer I won’t go to any mayor city in the world, although I’ve visited Barcelona a few weeks ago and I’m constantly going to Madrid, which I’m starting to realize it’s more like home.
I’ve heard a lot of people talking about what the perfect idea of ‘Home’ is. There’s this saying: home is where the heart is, but seriously, what’s the point in claiming such a thing? What does the heart have to do with the feeling of being at home?
I think the idea of home changes constantly. And there’s a time when you feel like you don’t belong at all, like if suddenly the word ‘home’ became a tale spread by word-of-mouth that isn’t true at all, some kind of myth. But sometimes you really feel you long to be somewhere, or with someone. and the idea of home totally makes sense. You might be away from someone you love, but whenever you both are together, never minding the place, even if it’s the ugliest and more devastating and dreadful place in the world, you feel like home.
So since I’m not at home and I’m feeling homesick as an astronaut, I’m trying to take some comfort in written words.
Hope you’re having a wonderful summer.