I miss home the most when I come home hungry to an empty house. It’s dead quiet and no one is around.
There are no friends to meet and no family to wait up for. There is no cat to cuddle.
I sit alone at the dining table, stuffing into my mouth some sorry excuse for food I managed to hastily throw together for dinner.
My stomach is filled, but not happily.
The wind is howling outside, the catch on my window is broken and it throws itself open every so often, blasting cold wind into the room.
This is when I feel like turning up All By Myself on the stereo while tearing into a tub of ice-cream a la Bridget Jones.
Only I don’t have a stereo.
Alas, I don’t even have that song.