It's 4:42 am and I can't sleep.
It's one of those rare, quiet moments, when I'm lying awake soundlessly and thoughts flood my mind, but not in the usual way. Instead of clamoring for attention, these thoughts drift through my head and color my consciousness.
I miss so many things in life. I'm so young, but already I feel wistful for things long gone, not for people or places, necessarily, but for feelings. I'm addicted to feeling. It's what makes me appreciate the nuances of life.
I miss the carefree days of childhood. I miss the swooping excitement of meeting new people. I miss traveling, the feeling of being out of my element and being completely awestruck by the novelty of places so far away from home, by the wonderfully endless complexity of the world around me, and by how small I am.
These tiny, perfect moments in life I can recall with absolute clarity. Thin, brilliant slices in time, ones I regret not falling in love with sooner. But now there's no time anymore; everything rushes past in a blur and I have no choice but to quicken my pace.
And now, so far from home but so close, on the verge of graduation and entering a new world, I miss familiarity. I miss the comfort of knowing where "home" was, where my life was going, and the lovely feeling of doing absolutely nothing important at all.
And I swear I can hear the roar of the ocean from here, not the ocean just outside my window but the one at home, lulling me into a dreamless sleep.