Amsterdam, Netherlands — 10:43 AM

I am somewhere above Wassenar and my best friend’s home. My computer in my lap, as always. A simple bag. Small souvenirs for my loved ones. A thousand thoughts in my head.

What if home was always meant to be where I was?

I have in my skin the sun in Marbella. In my hair, streaks of summer from Hvar. Seashells from Zanzibar. Echoes from the night in Ibiza. Between the pages of my notebook, a piece of lavender from Split. A sense of home and belonging from The Hague.

—————————

Overhead, our pilot’s voice begins, “We’ve begun our descent into Rome, the weather is a sunny 27 degrees…”

I look out the window.

I’ve brought everything with me.