You’ll drive somewhere just to see if you can find home again on your own, wandering to wander.
You’ll miss hugs, the good ones that last too long and say so much.
You’ll go to the same places over and over again to relish in the familiarity.
You’ll miss the possibility of running into someone you know, an entire town of yearbook photos that have grown a little worn around the edges.
Homesickness will fill the silences if you let it. You’ll step onto an empty balcony at an uncomfortable house party and it will come.
You’ll be surprised by the easy days.
Your new friends won’t notice when you’re gone, when you work through lunch everyday for a week or miss Wednesday night drinks, because you haven’t been a constant in their lives long enough for them to realize you’ve been elsewhere.
You’ll double-take every time you hear a voice or see the back of someone’s head that feels familiar, regardless of how improbable it is. You’ll be disappointed every time it’s not him.
You’ll take yourself out to brunch on a Sunday morning because you want the calm and the quiet and the proving to yourself that you can. Eventually you’ll learn to feel comfortable saying “table for one.”
This comfort might scare you.
You’ll find yourself making categories and placing people in them in true Dr. Seuss fashion: old friends, new friends, home friends, school friends.
Those categories will becomes less defined and new ones will materialize: then and now. This might not be easy to accept.
You’ll challenge the things you feared.