I never thought this day would come.
Nine years ago this very hour, my plan landed in Seattle. I was moving off to "ever afterland" and would live out the rest of my life with smiles and bliss.
How foolish dreams can be.
Nevertheless, it's been exactly nine years. Nine depressing years of waiting to escape the clouds and rain and dreary reality of how small towns can suffocate as much as they can wrap you in peaceful familiarity.
I had a three year plan. I was supposed to be somewhere else by now. Somewhere fabulous doing something remarkable... or at least just somewhere else doing anything.
I've never lived anywhere for nine years before. Well, officially I guess I left the state for a summer and moved to another town for six months so in ten more months I will "officially" have been in the same city for nine years. But still, nine is a big number.
And yet, I have no idea where the time has gone.
In looking back, my strongest memories are of walking barefoot through fields of dandelions, picking wild cherries in the woods, falling in love with boys who bought me books, and waiting for... something. I can't put my finger on it, but I feel like I've been holding my breath all this time waiting for someone to finally come put their hand on my shoulder and say "It's okay, it's over. You can go home now."
But what is home? I have nowhere to go back to; no one is there. So, if there's nothing behind me and nothing certain in front of me, where does that leave me?
Here.
Perpetually.
For nine years.
I'm not saying it's all bad. As far as small towns go, this one's got quite the charm. But I have to wonder if any place will ever feel like home again or if I'll just continue the rest of my life with scattered pieces of my heart left along the highway.
