emmaleems:

home is a state at sea, tomatoed and strip-mall’d. home is the patio in the backyard with the tiki torches and the fireflies and the sun-faded green plastic lawn chairs where you once sat small and sunburnt and screaming all alone trying to pull a splinter from your smallest finger after everyone else had already gone inside. home is someone calling back at you from the open bathroom window you’ll feel better having finished it. home is just small town memories now, like baseball-field fireworks and sunday morning bagels and things named after family friends. home is the languages you lose when starting over.

Left Over in New Jersey || Emma-Lee M.