I mildly understand the comfort that is home. What I mean by that is, I've never quite pinpointed where that coveted location stands for me. A little town in Florida comes closest to the word's dictionary definition. There, the Traveler's Palms are an exuberant green, and every other thing that touches the ground is sunshine. I like to soak my feet in that big tub of Atlantic water, let the breeze weave its oceanic magic into my hair, and relieve the symptoms of a sometimes suffocating city life.
It's what I leave with each time that feels the most like home: the smell of a sunset I can't find anywhere else in the world, that gentle feeling in my palm, like a friend just squeezed my hand.
It is my most familiar feeling: as I drive off, or fly away, I am certain that I will return.