The Missing

There’s this weird part of living in a new place, about 1600 miles from anyone else I’ve ever known.  It’s the part that I refer to as “the missing.”  I hate that part.  Isn’t it sad, that geographical distance between your loved ones and yourself?  I find it sad anyway.  Particularly when the only home I’ve really known has been within 20 minutes of my parents’ house, where I grew up.  I hear this part gets easier though.

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