i can drive my favorite windy roads
and sing my favorite songs at the top of my lungs.
i can be in New England and be cuddled with my kitty
and sit in my favorite chair by the wood stove
and watch the weather channel.
i can spend hours with old friends
and i can spend hours on my own.
I can talk with my sisters and go run errands with my mom,
and sure, that is the best part about being back East.
but it doesn't matter how busy or happy i seem to be.
i'm constantly feeling empty, a half, incomplete.
a dull ache in my chest that never goes away,
although it hurts more some times than others.
I may be back in new england,
but for the first time, i'm not really home.
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