I remember feeling at home.
I remember people crowding in front of our little house for a party we were throwing. It seemed like people were coming from all directions. I never expected them all to fit in the house.
I remember talking without speaking in the split-level, sea level house in Montgomery I call home.
I remember that I will always miss those covers in that tiny room and the smell that somehow remains within the walls. I need to grow up and learn to let go of that home.
I remember the sweet nostalgia and security of visiting home for the first time after having moved out.
I remember being truly happy. Truly at home.
I remember the smell. You typically don't know the smell of your own home until you've come back from a trip, or left it behind for some time. I always wanted to capture that smell and keep it with me when I went away.
I remember smelling skin, wood, and Chianti in my new home in Wyoming I will soon, for myself, call home.
I remember feeling insecure about having a home
I remember moving twice, each time, losing a little of myself in each previous house.
I remember missing my old house because that is where my true memories reside.