It's a strange thing, to move out of the place you were raised in. I suppose I was extracted from it gently--I spent two years living away while at college. Back then, my dorm room was not my home; it was the place I lived. I still came home about once a month, and also during summer and Christmas break.
Deacon and I both grew up on the same street, though admittedly a fair distance apart. When we got married, we both moved to an apartment in Rolla, where we have been going to school (him for his Bachelor's, me for my Master's). We've been living here for almost a year now.
The house that I grew up in has since become "my parents' house." My old bedroom, though it still has all of my decorations and furniture in it, is not really my bedroom anymore. It's the room that the cats go to sleep in during the day.
We have been back in our hometown visiting everyone for the past several days. Today, we returned back to our apartment in Rolla. But which do I say: we went home for the weekend, or we returned home today.
The lease on this apartment ends in a few days. We are moving a few blocks down, to a three-bedroom house. Will that be our home, then? Or simply another residence? Is this apartment currently our home? Is it possible for a place to be your home at one point in time, but not in another? Or is home simply where your family is?
currently listening to: Open Hands (feat. Trent Dabbs) by Ingrid Michaelson