To be honest I ran away from Florida. I didn’t just move. I ran away because everything about Florida reminds me of the person who taught me how to love it. By the time I move back later this year, I’ll have spent a year living in New York.
I’m something of a hopeless wanderer. I always feel like I should be going somewhere new. I have stayed here for much longer than I intended, but I’ve been restless for much of it. I’ve flown home to visit or left the state for the weekend almost every month.
I’m ready to go home now. I want to continue traveling the world but I want to have a comfortable place to call home. I want to finally unpack my boxes that have been sitting in my parents garage for over 2 years.
I want to buy a boat, an expensive cooler, a pickup truck. I want to spend days in the sun, I want to camp on islands, swim in salty water with my dog. I want to drink beer at noon— shoulders hot in the sun, toes cool in the water. I’m ready to go home.
I found a poem a while back that expresses a similar feeling about Florida, please enjoy:
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