Coming Home

I’ve started over before- Many times; this time, though, I am ready.

We open the door to my new, downtown apartment (void of furniture but filled with possibilities), and immediately start to plan. Ideas echo in the air as we run up and down the stairs, excited about every inch of empty space.

“This will be the gaming room!”
“A mirror will fit here perfectly!”
“You need to put a painting here!”
“OMG, what is this closet for?”

After a glass of wine (Or, rather, a red solo-cup of Stella Rosa), we lie on the floor and bask in the light beaming through the Livingroom window. The sun warms my cheek, my friend holds my hand, and we laugh in that way reserved only for those who are truly lightened by the knowledge that the universe will take care of us. Church bells ring in the distance, and we sigh with contentment. She thanks me for letting her be a part of my life, and I thank her for letting me be a part of hers. My first real, true friend with whom I share a closeness that is not motivated by a need I am not able to fulfill, a desire I do not know how to care for, or an expectation I will never meet. I feel safe, seen, loved, and in love with the coming journey.

Fullerton is where my life started when I was 15. It’s surreal to know that I am, once again, leaving Nevada and coming back “home” to live right down the street from my old high school where I once expressed the exact same feelings of hopeful excitement. This time, though… This time, I am ready.