Diaries from Suburbia (Chapter 2)


What it takes to make a home

Dear Diary,

I sit here in a vacant chair at a strange airport, feeling the weight of dirt and grime of three continents on my skin and hair. Home never felt more far away this moment, as the air felt warm and balmy as it washed my face. I cannot feel my legs, but I can feel very much the weight of my lifeless body, in wait of a warm bed.

As I wait for my friends to arrive, my sleep deprived mind starts to roll footage from a few months ago. In the midst of a dreamy haze, I see myself sitting on my unmade bed under the toasty affection of my azure colored comforter. Wearing only a figure hugging t-shirt too comfortable to throw away and tattered shorts that gave any modicum of modesty a run for its money, I watched…

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