All your friends are gone

I cried when I landed in Chicago. There were so many houses, and bright blue pools in the backyards, and no soviet block buildings. My friends are gone. I sat for five hours alone, pacing the airport with my heavy bag and sleepy eyes. I boarded another plane. I slept and woke up, moved my legs around in front of my seat. I landed. I almost cried when I saw my mom and my dog at the bottom of the escalator.

Yesterday I didn't leave the house, but to eat Taco Bell.

Today I drove around and I cried because everything was the same but all my friends are gone and when I feel happy because I get a burrito for the first time in five months, no one is there with me.

The people at the stores ask me "how are you?" and make comments on the weather, but all I can think about is "you don't actually care." And when I listen in on conversations, I wish that I couldn't understand English because a lot of girls are so. fucking. dumb. And the guys driving around in their jeeps with the top off and their shirts off aren't any better.

But then I get out of the car, and I walk around campus and things seem really beautiful. Because it is the same, and my dog is so happy to be outside with me, and no one is staring at me because I am the same as everyone else for once.

And that is what it's like to be home.