Starting over will absolutely be the breath of fresh air that you need, as long as you’re open to the way and shape all these new changes will present themselves to you.
Maybe ‘home’ is not about where you are, but about how you feel. The way you find yourself belonging to a person or place, simply because it’s where your heart has decided to rest.
Displacement.That’s what I call it: the feeling of not really knowing where you fit. When you’re tied to a place you’ve always known but suddenly feel more comfortable somewhere new. When you’re connected to more than one location, considering both of them where you belong
There comes a point and time where you want to meet new people from various backgrounds, and explore different things. The things that you used to do for fun are no longer appealing, and the place begins to feel less and less like home as you grow within yourself. You crave more than what you’ve been used to.
I trust in the feelings I get around you. Those kind of feelings aren’t just something you throw away.
A newly discovered source of contentment for me has been drinking my coffee on the floor of my living room in my underwear. Sitting alone on the floor is like peeling off another protective layer. I don’t have to be a real person.
From anywhere in the house, you can hear the clink of their coffee mugs hitting the granite countertop of the island in our kitchen. I always find comfort in hearing those clinks because it means nobody has plans for most of the morning. I hate waking up to an empty house.
440 Lorimer Street. Back to Brooklyn. I wore the same green dress all the time, and supported myself handing out flyers in Times Square for an off-Broadway show about Elvis. I had to wear a poodle skirt. I spent all my earnings on cheap wine and cocaine.
I miss being understood. I miss being accepted. I miss being loved.