Lately I have been thinking about how I will always miss every place I have ever lived. Even though, at the time of living there, I might have despised the place, there are always good things in any place. I remember those good things. Maybe it was just the good company that came with the place. Or the specific bookstore I frequented so often, or the friendly barista I saw weekly in the local coffee shop. I remember the mountains of the second house I lived in and the swing my dad built in the wash of the first house. None of those places are as I remember them though. The first house; completely remodeled. The second house has whole new subdivisions surrounding it. The third house does not have the high school atmosphere it once had for me. The city apartment has lost all its roommates. Those places are not the same as I remember them yet I still get nostalgic and sometimes homesick for them. I will eventually miss where I am now, too. Despite my current state of hating it, I will love it when I am done living here. Places are deceiving like that, you start to miss them so much, but you are only missing memories.