Coming home never feels as good as you think it will.
When you’re on vacation you love it, but somewhere in the back of our head, there’s always the thought of coming home.
Home is the place you want to be.
Yet when you’ve spent a couple of days heading home and finally get there you want to go back to wherever you were.
You don’t really want to be home.
You take your home for granted, it’s just a place like any other.
Why is that?
Why don’t we come home and feel like this is where we want to be?
Why do we always want to go somewhere?
I don’t understand it.
I love my home, and yet I always want to go abroad.
I want to see other places.
I never want to be at home.
And when I go to other places.
I want to go home.
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Categories: flash fiction