I think of all of it more than they know. I think of my mom, my dad, my brother. I think of our past, my high school, Synara.
I remember what a pick up truck means and what a homecoming game feels like.
I remember the smell and taste of fresh corn on the cob and hot mosquito nights. I remember the feeling of a lit fire on a January evening.

What I miss most is being surrounded by people who were all shaped by those same things, like it or not, that I was.
I hate it too, the obvious, mono-culture, predictable everything. And, after years of trying to squeeze into that coziness, the inside driver just said "enough" and drove me right out of there.
But that doesn't change the fact that context is paramount. And my context is mid-Michigan.
Damn it.