I've thought about going back so many times.

The traffic on the road outside my neighborhood, Mexican food tradition right after church. Overpriced frozen yogurt, skyscrapers, pride, bluebonnets. The mall I always went to, the streets I never learned the names of.

I have these little snapshots of memory, that are being woven with the places I know now. A sunny street where I used to ride my bike is being merged with my new path to school, and the new blue of the sky becoming less strange.

I can't hold these memories in my hand; they're intangible.

Irreplaceable.

All this in a year's time, and counting.

And now, I'm not sure what to count as my home. Soon my world's going to shift again, bringing new buildings and memories, shaking all I hold as the norm.

Is it better to leave things behind and embrace the new? Or hold on to the past and only tentatively step forward?

Both?

Neither?

Home is where the heart is, true. Or also where one's family is, one's friends. One's childhood. One's memories. Or one's freedom.

Maybe it's the place where the blue of the sky meets love, where chocolate meets the stars, where the beauty in a book meets the beauty in a wildflower, where a bear hug meets a summer day, where the all I do is changed by the Father's never ending love and mercy, where the tangible meets the intangible.