When I go home - to my hometown that is - there is a part of me that relaxes. I breathe in the smell of hay, I stare wide-eyed at the flatness of the earth (as if I hadn't seen it a hundred million times before) and I fall back into the sound of trains going by in the middle of the night.
A part of me also tenses. As soon as I've let home in, I pull back. I won't be staying and I know this. It is painful. Feeling totally at home and like a stranger, all at once. I can't resolve it. Maybe I'm not supposed to. Maybe that's just how it is.
Was home ever meant to be in one place? I don't know.