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. 
But, now? 
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.

One Response so far.

  1. Bourne says:

    I know almost exactly how you feel. I miss it all :\