Mac 'n Cheese

Home is a hilltop from afar. Home is a sense of loss, a period of absence. Home is comfort, a kind that I no longer have, and so places me in search to obtain or develop again. Home is nostalgia, a concept of missing something that is no longer there. In all manners of categorizing, Home is a collection of memories, either great in actuality or deluded to be great. Home is establishment, familiarity, a strong pull of belonging. Complete security. Perhaps Home once existed for me, because I am still in transit to find it again. Perhaps Home is being at peace with oneself, and you can carry Home on your back as you become enlightened, no matter where you live or who you love. Finding that Home has never been with family, or places that you've lived, I think that maybe Home is in childhood, and if it is, should I figure whether we can reach childhood again in order to feel Home? I dislike the idea that "Home is where the heart is," because I'm whimsical, and the lofty-minded shouldn't be punished. I fear that this is another form of Nervous Conditions, that the displacement of emotions, geography, loved ones, is, in truth, a further displacement from one's sense of Home. And I would think that a lot of young people like me, unstable and in longing, are establishing small mounds of Home as I am. So they journey, and depending on their attachments and maturity, find Home in one form or another in wisdom and age. In a realm of reality, not feeling [at] home is a falsity, a loosening in the spirit. Home is just an ideal; I'm just incapable of stabilizing a sense of Home for myself.