the kind of homesick that sits behind your ribs
It’s wild how homesickness creeps in when life gets quiet. Not in a dramatic, falling-apart way — just this gentle tug that reminds me how far I am from the people who feel like home.
I miss my mom and dad, and the comfort of knowing I could stop by whenever and instantly feel grounded. I miss Little Dog and Bubby doing their chaotic little routines that somehow always made everything feel normal.
And I miss my best friend, Mykayla — she’s about to have a whole baby in a month, and part of me just wants to be close enough to pick her up for a thrift run or sit on her couch like we always used to. Honestly, I even miss her husband Dylan, which is kind of hilarious but here we are.
It’s not that I’m unhappy — I just wish I could teleport everyone over for dinner sometimes, or pop into my mom’s house when I need a reset. It’s the small, everyday things you don’t realize you’ll crave until they’re not right there anymore.
It’s a soft kind of homesick, but it’s real.
