I miss home.
I miss the mountains. Steep, rocky, covered in coniferous trees. Snowy peaks reaching into the heavens.
I like it here. The air is new. I'm not bored here. Home was boring.
I miss my dog. My dog is at home. She used to sleep in my room, at the foot of my bed. She didn't like it when any part of the family wasn't there. Now, she is at home. I am not at home.
It is lush here. The air is wet. The countryside is covered in green. The city glows bright. In the city, there is a library. I like to go there. It is big, and there are lots of books. I like the books, but I don't know how to read them. The people in the library are quiet. I like quiet people. When the people here talk, I can't understand what they are saying. I don't know what they are saying. I can't know what they are saying. Will I ever know what they are saying? Quiet people are easier. Quiet people are better. People who talk are too much work. People who talk make it hard for me to think. When people talk, nothing makes sense. My thoughts don't make sense. That's why I like quiet people.
Sometimes, at home, people asked me if I liked someone. I didn't like anyone. I never liked anyone. There was nothing to like about any of them. Now, here, people ask me if I want to date someone. I don't want to date anyone. But I like to look at the cute boys. I like to sit and watch them from afar. And I like when the boys look back at me. I never liked the boys back home. I couldn't like the boys back home. But the boys here are good. The boys here are cute. But I don't want to date them. Boys are too much work. Dating is too much work. I have too much work. There is so much work. I can't keep up. I can't breathe. I can't see clearly. I can't hear clearly. It's all just noise.
The noise is so loud.
My room back home was clean, usually. It wasn't always clean. Sometimes there was paper scattered on the floor. Sometimes there was trash on the desk. Often, it was clean. Here, my room is not clean. There is clutter. So much clutter. I don't know what's in my room. I don't know how things got there. I don't know how the gnats and mosquitos got there. I don't know when I first started seeing the larvae. When I eat, I think of the larvae. Then I can't eat anymore. When I look at my food, I see a potential home for larvae. I hate the larvae.
I like to look out the window here. The outside is new. The air is new. The air is wet. I like to look at the lights outside the window. The lights are pretty. They glow purple and red and green and blue and white and yellow and orange. I've never seen so many lights. I like the lights. The gnats also like the lights out the window. I don't like the gnats. I didn't like looking out the window at home. The outside was dull. There weren't pretty lights to be seen. Home was boring. But there weren't gnats.
What is home?
Was home really home?
When was the last time I really was home?
I don't want to go back just yet.
I'm not homesick.
Unlike them, I'm not homesick.
I just miss what I had.
I just miss home.