The only stable home I’ve had as an adult hasn’t been tangible. It’s been me. My identity. My self. I’m homesick for the person I used to be.
Looking back on 2014.
I was walking on the beach at low tide when I found a live sand dollar.
More than any other moment in my life, leaving Portland has felt like pushing a reset button.
The way your apartment smelled—like Dial and Old Spice, clean and warm. You tickling me. And me retaliating with my cold hands—or feet—against your bare skin.