I was gone for two years. And it was the same cliche thing they say it is. Everything looked the same, were doing the same thing, it was like I was a giant busting out of a tiny box. But it was more intimate than that. I could feel the cobwebs that had grown in the relationship between me and my mom. She has been through her own journey in those two years. One without me and one that changed her. She seemed more mature, but younger than I had ever see her, like she was getting a new lease on life but she would have to give up everything about her old one.

The place itself, Marquette, may have a few new stores pop up. But the sidewalk I roamed, the memories that linger had not aged in the years I left them.

I found myself pining to stay and yearning to leave. I felt confined and recklessly unburdened. There was a tumultuous force inside me that wished  I could be split cleanly in two. One half to roam the world and fill my dreams. The other to stay at home and enjoy my family while trying to make new memories amidst the old.

When it is time to leave home I conquer the sadness by remembering the reason I left in the first place. And remembering that I can always return. There is truly no place like home.