Missing Home

Whenever I think of home, I think of Sunday mornings brunching with my friends near/at eastern market. I barely remember the slushy winters or the sauna summers. I remember browsing through secondhand book stores, picking out plants for my garden, and nibbling on cheese samples.

I remember beautiful spring days and buzzing bees and taking my fluffy white dog on hikes through rocky trails. I remember driving to the countryside and visiting farms and thrift stores to just browse for random things.

I miss making dinner for friends and going to house parties. I miss trying new restaurants and sipping wine at the jazz garden. I miss driving and fantastic salad. I miss vegetables that don’t rot in 2 days.

I want to take a walk down M street, grab a fresh salad, watch a movie on the lawn, and then go grab a cupcake. I want to celebrate friendsgiving and Halloween in raging style.

I want proper gin&tonics and dark&stormies. I want to go to the sea. I want to read books on the back porch and go to barbecues every other weekend.

I miss kayaking and silly 5k runs. I miss charity events and walks through old town. I miss musty museums and the city skyline.

Fuck, I miss DC…

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