I am back home, sitting on my couch in new moccasins, new pajama pants, a new tank, underneath my new Pendleton merino wool throw, and Ben is in the kitchen making homemade tortillas with his brand new tortilla press. All is right with the world.
I've finally reached that point in my life where I really feel like my home is my apartment with Ben (wherever that may be). It's no longer where I grew up. This is our space, our place, and where I am most relaxed and comfortable. While you're in college, the dorm rooms and various apartments or house-shares always felt like less-than home and coming home was joyous. It felt right to fall asleep in your old bed, or drive your old car, or sit in your old spot in the living room.
I'm guessing that starts to feel foreign once you've started to build your own life, you stop moving as frequently, and you live in a place you truly love. Coming home tonight was so perfect. I turned on all of the sparkling lights, lit my pine candle and cuddled up with my sleepy traveling kitten on the couch.
Oh, to love your life.