I wrote about it once....the place I called home.
When they ask where I'm from I say Provo, Utah -- but really,
I'm from Timpview.
....And unlike the rest of the students who get to go home on holidays and during summer break,
I'm not sure that I ever get to go back home.
I spent hours and hours of my life there.
I fell in love there. I fought there. I kissed there. I held hands there. I slept there. I cried there.
I watched movies there. I was a rebellious teenager and snuck out of there.
I ate there. I smiled there. I laughed there. I had my family there.
I even had a mini-fridge that I could use in the journalism lab there.
Now I think I'm homeless.
So Timpview, when do I get to come home?
When do I get to walk the hallways, sit on the couch and talk, eat my microwaved dinners, laugh until I cry, get hugs from everyone who loves me, know every crevice and corner (cause I've been in them all).
Do I ever get to come home?
I'm homesick, and I miss you Timpview.
& yes, you can call me pathetic because I miss my high school, my home.
--But this is just another autobiography, examining the prosopography of me.
By: Emma Marie.