On leaving your place and people you call home.

Three nights ago,
I cried myself to sleep.
I was home, in bed.
Knowing that I am leaving, home.
You'd think that
you'd get used to the goodbyes to your family,
friends, home.
You'd think that all the loneliness will fade
and you'd be accustomed to being alone, by now.

However,
I don't think that people,
I, can get used to leaving
the people I love behind.

Then, I cried myself to sleep
the next night after the first.
My dreams were messy,
there was running and no ends.
No goals, no finish line,
I was running from something but
I don't know what.

I didn't cry
the night before I left.
I didn't feel anything, I was
smiling.
I guess, I malfunctioned.

I cried when I was on the plane.
I hyperventilated to stop, it worked pretty well.
My best friend said that she misses me already.
Then, I thought about the last few times that
we hung out.
I remember feeling complete.
I remember being safe.
I remember being home.
I remember looking at her, and just laughing
because she made a look.
I miss her again and maybe, more
when I think about it.
I cried harder.

I reached my dorm.
I remember that
I won't hear my little brother run up the stairs.
I can't hear my brother singing in the shower.
I can't call my best friend to go out.
The jiggle of keys, the way the place smells.
The sound of water pumping and the way my bed feels.
It's familiar but
it's not home.
I sat up from my bed and
I cried.