I drove down memory lane today.

The first house:
The house I lived in as a child.

The smell of the surrounding
woods were earthy and familiar.
It has a distinct smell,
like the years I spent outside
hiding from my life.
It smelled like a place I once lived.
The house, however, was unfamiliar.

The next house:
Chandler's house.

I remembered exactly how to get there.
Every turn,
every pothole to avoid.
They were patched
and the asphalt was old.

I knew this house better than the last.
Feelings of familiarity, love, and warmth.

It had been remodeled.
A new addition built onto the side and
a fresh coat of paint.
I wanted to go in and
see him again.
I know he doesn’t live there anymore,
I just wish he did.

The last stop on this trip was
The Cozino House.

It was just as familiar as the last.
Exactly as I remembered it.
No new additions.
No new paint.

“I’m homesick” I said out loud
as I passed by the wooden fence
that I once jumped over and cut my leg on.

I did a backflip for the first time in that front yard
and had a campfire in the back.

Momma had a bed for me there,
just in case.
I played pool in their garage.
I was kissed there too.

I felt loved.
I felt like me.
I felt like I was home…
Everywhere but the first house.