It is very strange. If you had asked me, when I lived in Toronto, where "home" was, I would have told you quite honestly, nowhere. I didn't view any place on earth as belonging to me or me to it. I felt like a wanderer, a nomad, stuck temporarily in this city that I loved but with no place to call my home.
Now, I look at photographs of Toronto (some I just stumbled upon tonight on another blog site of the area where I lived and ran), and I nearly cry with a fierce longing of homesickness that sweeps over me in a wave that I can't explain. Why this sudden captivation with a city that I didn't even think I belonged in? Why the joy when I came back to it a month or so ago after being away only three months?
I almost don't even dare to hope it could be "home" for me. For now, I will only say that I love it, with an intensity that I don't even understand.