I used to live in a place where I think I left my heart. It was by the beach and the buildings were crumbling. It was crowded and the streets were dirty.
It was perfect.
There were forever friendships formed and time for everything that you needed. I miss riding to friends’ houses because we all lived within walking distance. I need to come home to the people whose stories make me cry and laugh and roll my eyes.
I need bin candy, not becuase of a craving, but because I crave the relationships that were formed by piling into the Ford Explorer.
You would go to a stranger’s house, never having been there, and know without fail, where the keg would be and that the night would end with a walk home along poorly paved roads and heels in hand.
And when I lived there, I would ride towards my house, past girls in sunglasses and bikinis and boys without shirts, sitting at a sandwich shop enjoying beers and the sun.
That was the me that I want to be.