Making it to me

It’s nearing the end of my time here. A time I thought would never come, but the Santas and stockings in the supermarket seem to say otherwise. What’s really weird is I feel little sense of belonging to one unique spot anymore. Ya know, what some people might call a home.


What is home?

Home is my lake and it’s dynamic blues. Home is the prick from dune grass running towards the gazebo to watch a Michigan sunset.

It’s the sound of loons while looking up at miles of stars in the Boundary Waters.

It’s the beautiful hibiscus after a night swim in Puerto Vallarta.

And home lives across the world in New Zealand.

It’s the greatest pieces of  my humanity in a basket, full of the bits and bobs of what has denfined and continues to define my blip in this universe.

I came here weary of my ability to reach the full potential of my independence, and excelled far past expectations.

And bish, I can hike, sing, dance,  paint, party, and remain as studious as ever.

I know now that curiousity didn’t kill any cats without first letting them live a little.

And that living a little by putting myself out there is not always a hurtful process.

Love ain’t easy, but I think now more than ever I know there are some good candidates out there 😉

So hell yeah, this place has become a home, and I know when goodbyes do come they’re temporary. Hehe

And Justus,

I never knew I needed a friend like you till your stoopid ass came knocking on my door. Love you lots my dude

There are beach days and night outs ahead.<
here’s a wonderful family to go and celebrate CHRISTMAS with

And there’s a career somewhere in biological anthropology for me.

I shouldn’t fail to mention, “distant stranger that I will complete, I know you’re out there we’re meant to be. So keep your head up and make it to me.”

Make it to me 😘

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