I was floating through the brisk air of Athens, Greece. The clouds tasted of cherry sprite and sweet belgian waffles. Platformed above Mac Demarco’s music, his lyrics swaying through my unconscious mind, my heart still beats for you, repeatedly playing. Why do places away from home feel so fresh? It feels as satisfying as the number 2,222 or as new sandals on a sandy beach. But nothing compares to the warm and familiar feeling of home. Memories of hot and sunny days on Okauchee lake swayed through my sensation. Sleeping in my moms bed, sinking lower and lower to the depth of fantasy. The books by Shel Silverstein collect dust in my bright orange childhood bedroom. Visions of my Grandma singing “Oh how i love you so” could never compare to the statue of liberty, or the eiffel tower. I felt like a starfish, clinging onto everything I know.