In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “There’s No Place Like Home.”
They say you can be too young to fall in love. As Lee Brice sums up,
They called them crazy when they started out
Said seventeen’s too young to know what loves about
They’ve been together fifty-eight years now
Maybe you can be too young to fall in love. All I know is that I fell in love long before seventeen. Love is such a multi-faceted word. It can be romantic, it can be personable. It can be a descriptor. It is emotion – raw and unbridled or delicate and petty. It can refer to almost anything. I love this coffee! I loved that book! I love you!
It can also refer to places, to a sense of belonging. I know this, because I fell in love when I ten.
It was not with a boy, but rather with a place. The one spot in the world that will always be home for me. No matter how far I travel, how long I am gone from it, it is HOME.
Nearly ten years passed before I was able to return to it. At the time, I had been unable to name that emotion clawing at my chest. The one that would make me stare down an open highway and think what if I just kept driving? It took those years and distance to be able to name that emotion – and to realize what that place meant to me.
It was home. And I suspect it will always be home, even if I am not living there. Returning to it is like picking up right where you left off in a good book – you never miss a beat and voraciously plunge yourself back into the story. With each journey back, this place captures another piece of my heart, staking its claim on me.
They say you can be too young to fall in love. But that is what I did and I regret nothing.