Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #154.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:
I’ve never cared much for phrases like “The past is the past” and “You can never walk the same path twice.” But my least favorite, the one that flames the raging fires deep within my soul?

“You can never go home again.”

I’ll be honest with you, Sweetpea: For someone who is a tad bit weary (OK, more than a tad bit…) of change, the idea that home can be such a fleeting notion leaves me, well, a bit unsettled. It’s sort of like being lost, I suppose. Home ties us safely together, and without it, we’re sort of left to wander the metaphorical streets alone, looking for any sign of our home. Yes, we may leave home — and say we’ll never come back — but somehow, we always do. Home, like the mafia, just seems to pull us back in. Its pull is stronger than anything in this world. We can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere other than the comforts of home.
Every so often, I get to thinking of my childhood home. It was a small apartment, but there was so much life there. So much life that even now, nearly 10 years after we moved away, the memories flood back every single time we drive passed it. Memories of doing my homework at the dining room table. Memories of baking cookies with my mother in the teeny, tiny kitchen. Memories that haven’t left me.

That’s what going home really is, if you ask me, Sweetpea. Which brings me to one of my favorite songs, Sweetpea. I’m sure I’ll wax poetic quite a lot about this song once we’re married; after all, it’s a song by this guy, full of straight-from-the-heart sentiments…

Another aeroplane
Another sunny place
I’m lucky, I know
But I wanna go home
Mmmm, I’ve got to go home
I like to think that you can go home again — that there is a home waiting for you. At the end of the day, that’s all we really want, isn’t it? A safe place to land. Because, in the end, when life gets really scary, sticky and just plain screwy, the only place we can think of going is home. And it might not even be ‘home’ per se; it could be a smile, a mother’s loving arms, a good book, a cup of coffee on a cold winter’s morning. Not everything is linear, not everything has a beginning, middle and an end. I talked about that last week. There are many ways of going home, and I say you CAN go home any time you want to. Don’t feel bad about it, either. I don’t. Until we meet… xoxo

[Photos via Le Love]