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May

May is hard. May is always hard. Too many goodbyes and too many endings, but this one is worse, because in addition to endings I have lack of beginnings. 

 I've been with you for these three days, once a year, every year since I was fourteen. You changed my life. You are Home--the first place I really felt at Home, and most dear to this day. But this year I live in Idaho and I can't get there and it hurts and I just miss you. What kind of child doesn't go home when Home exists 3 days a year, and this is her last chance? 

 Only poor ones. 



My dear roommates have no idea why I keep crying.

 necessito un abrazo grande.


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