By the light of the moon, I'm coming home.

In just two short weeks, I will be calling the road my home. In all honesty, the word home has lost any sense of meaning to me. I don't know where "home" is. I hope that this experience will bring me clarity and a sense of belonging. Maybe even some peace of mind. The past six months that have transpired have been the hardest, but have shown me the importance of living for what I love and even more importantly, who I love.

I sometimes slow down and look at where I'm at. I miss my friend so much. It always catches up with me when I least expect it to. I suppose that's how it goes though. I can never fully have everything under control. I think that I'm running away from my past, without fully accepting that I am. I suppose that it's just too hard to see my family the way they are, or speak to anyone that held my friend as dearly as I did. It makes me sad that I'm afraid to confront any of it. I'm confident that I'll figure things out though. One of the most important ideas that I've taken from all of this is that life always moves on. Unchallenged, ubiquitous and beautiful. It's been hard for me to grasp that a mother can move on after losing her only son. Or that a wife can still find happiness after her family fractures under the pressure of divorce and alcoholism. It's an inevitable truth though. It always can. I'll find peace.