I used to call this place home, even if I only spent my summers in the richly uniform hills and murky grey-blue lakes of Tennessee.
I would grow bored easily, my body and mind at a loss without the constant movement of the city I’ve grown up in, but I still missed it the moment I saw concrete buildings glued together and people running from one job to another just to make ends meet.
I would much prefer walking out of my front door to a sea of sunshine and flowers, but all I see right now are more houses and more people and more of everything I could possibly want, so why does it feel like so much less?
A person can only live so long masqueraded by their namelessness in a crowd of too many faces when they are innately nameless to begin with.
I want to be in the sun where God can really see me, in the empty fields where I am known by each individual blade of grass and ounce of dirt, in the lake where coming out of the water always feels like some kind of baptism.
Wanting a fresh start can be misconstrued as running away, but I’m only longing to run forward. Freely.
Is it foolish to want nothing more than to see the stars as they should be seen? To want to lie wrapped in a blanket made of them all and relish in the air that flows so easily in and out of my already damaged lungs?