HOLDING ON TO SOMETHING REAL

It's a weird feeling being away from the people you trust most, and the people that you put all of your faith into.  All of my closest friends are spread across the world now, let-alone the continental U.S.  Of course I have friends where I am, some who have seen me grow up through my awkward phases.  But sometimes, I wish that I could tell one of my deep secrets to someone who truly cared and listened, someone who not only watched me through those awkward phases, but went through them with me.  Someone who has been there for me for as long as I can remember.  And that is why I love coming home.  I finally get to visit with people that know so much about me and value me for who I am.  I get to have conversations that truly mean something to me, that are just continuations of conversations from earlier in the year.  Real friendships that aren't superficial.  Of course, a lot of this is coming from home-sickness.  But don't get me wrong.  The people I see every day now mean a lot to me.  They've helped me through a weird time in my life, and they showed me how to enjoy myself again.  And I owe them a lot for that.  I just hope they understand that sometimes it's nice to go back to familiar faces and comforting conversations.  Even when that means bringing yourself back to people you never thought you could trust again.  And that's what I think is beautiful:  Some of my deepest friendships are rooted through some of my best and worst memories.  And that let's me know how far I've come with some of my friends.  And all I really have to say about that is I'm glad for it.  Not for the bad memories, of course, but for the fact that my friends survived the bad memories, and stuck with me.  That must mean something, right?