Home

My sister went away to boarding high school when I was 5 years old. Every time we saw each other again, I made it a tradition to exchange presents with her. She still does it. Little did she know that my original attempts had been positive reinforcement... to train her to come home to me. But my attempts have grown futile, because her home is no longer by my side. My home is no longer by hers. Instead, I carry my home with me wherever I go. I carry my home in a guitar case on my back. I carry my home in a black canvas violin case. I carry my home in a sheaf of papers sprinkled with black notes, my own personal melody in the side pocket of my backpack. On my backpack, I carry more fragments of home. Silver keychains dangle, dozens of the gifts my sister and I had exchanged. I carry my home on my face, with a smile that will always be mine. A smile that adorns the walls of my sister's new home, black and white photos which our minds lend color to. A smile that adorns the walls of my sister's heart as hers adorns mine. I carry her smile inside me wherever I go, so I have never left home and I've realized that neither has she.