Just occasionally I feel slightly settled. I still have to catch myself and remind myself that I live here. This is home now.
Coming back to our apartment does feel like home, kinda. It’s not decorated the way we would decorate (I know Americans, at least in the PNW seem to love brown, I still don’t). It’s not our style of building. But it’s got our stuff laid out in a cozy way.
So that feels much better.
But now even outside, the americanness of it doesn’t make me feel weird, the
post mail boxes on sticks outside everyone’s houses, the low-lying buildings, mainly single story… it’s becoming background to where I live.
I still flash back to random things, the railway station in Windsor, the streets of terraced brick, and have a ‘wow, I really don’t live in the UK any more’ moment. And they’re still pretty frequent.
But as I lay on our sofa I think, hey, I’m home. With my love. And that’s good.