I didn't think i would be there for so long but when you are in it, it seems to give you no other choice.
Its like a drug that gives you no other options but full blown addiction. Well, that's how it seems to be for me anyway. The only problem is that there is a part of me that refuses to give up. The part of my heart that hasn't been taken over by this mysterious, infectious, vivid, passionate poison. If my heart was a painting it would be the part in the corner that retains the same color that it was and always has been, while the rest of it gets layered with rainbow acrylics. Its the part of my heart that remains at home, frolicking in the ocean, lying in the sand and flying in the sweet breeze that somehow seems to smell so incredibly amazing. Compared to the city i am living in right now, the air here smells like perfume and comfort and it's single handedly the best smell in the world. If comfort were soluble in air, like the Mystery Jets song, it would diffuse here. When i come back home, that little part of my heart swells up and up and up, pulsating with every breath that i take in, until eventually it bursts and the warm feeling i know and love spreads through my body and rushes through my veins. The crazy city blood is diluted and the essence of my home pulsates through me with such desire i think that my whole being may erupt and shatter into millions of tiny butterflies that just want to fly through the air and scream "IM HOME!".
This city gives you a different high, so sometimes the return home can feel like rehab. You toss and turn in your sleep. You wonder what the people in The Metropolis are doing. You log on, sign up, get online just to chat and see what you MIGHT be missing out on. The slow pace gives you jitters and anxiety. You wish people would just move the fuck out of the way and hurry up a little bit. You think you know best and you think that the people here are really missing out by not living There as well. And then a day comes when you don't twitch and fidget in line. Your nerves aren't shot and you don't walk the streets like you are late, 'late for a very very important date'. You fell down the rabbit hole in that 'other' city, but somehow you have managed to crawl back out onto the solid ground that is home, where your roots lie. And here your heart rests, nestled under the shade of all that you love and all that has shaped you. The roots swerve and inter-twine and carve a space for you and your heart, always here, always home. I miss you.