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I can’t sleep tonight. I’ve been laying in my bed in the dark, eyes wide open, staring out through my open window. Although all I can see is the barred window of the building next to me I leave the shade up so that some light filters through in the morning.

My room in Boston is still a little unfamiliar. It’s small. It’s full of most of my things from home: My comforter, a few books, my clothes, some pictures. The cat. But something about it is still foreign. I think decorating would probably help.

Thoughts of home are running through my head tonight. I keep thinking about the people I left; people I care about. I keep wondering, if I cared so much, why did I leave? I miss my friends. I miss my family. I miss some truly important people. It’s rough. Even knowing how right Boston is for me, I get so lonely. I”m hoping I can ride it out. And I’m hoping the feeling will go away once I start my job and truly settle into a routine. We’ll see.

Don’t worry. There’s no way I’m thinking of coming home. But I do miss it.

This poem has been on my heart lately, so I thought I’d share.

i carry your heart with me by E. E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it

in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

I love this poem. I love it because I think it can refer to anyone, not just a lover. It makes me think of death for some reason. Specifically, it makes me think of Mimi. It makes me think that the dead always are with us, that I’ll always carry my grandmother with me. Morbid, yes, but true in a way.

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