Oddly,

coming home has always been comfortable. Well, at least for short periods of time. Amidst all the changes that have happened to my house, I still like to walk back in my head and remember how things used to look like and how those things were tied to particular memories, especially from my childhood. Like the old French doors that my dalmatian used to scratch at. Or the corner of the wall that I rammed my skull into. Or my sports wallpaper that I slowly peeled off every night before I went to bed. In a couple months, coming home is not going to be as easy as it has been. I can see myself sorely missing home when that time comes.