Home is a place in your heart. It’s a feeling beyond feeling, not really tangible. Home is feeling sick for places you’ve never been, missing feeling you can’t quite describe.
So when you announce you are coming home, does that mean to a bedroom, a house, a town? Does it mean you are returning to where you sleep at night or where your family lives? No.
It’s where your heart is, where comfort lies. Home is in the longing. It’s in a bear hug, a group online filled with kindred spirits. It’s in a journal entry or a blog. It’s in the sharing of recipes, laughing over petty mistakes and late night phone calls.
Home is the invisible arms wrapped around you, a word of love in an otherwise crazy world.
So when I say I’m homesick it may not mean that I want to go back to where I sleep. It may mean I want to go back to where I slept for three weeks in 2007 or two semesters in 2005-2006.
I may mean I want to go back to the feeling I had when I was in love, or the emotions I miss from loving myself. Homesick is heartsick, really. It’s the dull thud of your heart when it knows it’s missing something just beyond your reach.