It’s funny how homesickness is something you come to expect forever after a while. The tangible, inhabitable home evaporates and transforms into its poltergeist, capable only of eerie sounds, sensations of cold, and moving objects around the room while you’re not looking. It’s not something you can touch, let alone return to. You’ve been forced to reconcile with this fact and its accompanying bastard-ass haunting.
And so we drove by the basilica last night, with me peering longingly up from the backseat window like a five year-old.
“Oh!” I thought, “it looks just like Minneapolis.”