Not as an instruction. As a memory.
Because “home” isn’t a place you arrive at once. It’s a place you return to over and over again. Until the road between who you are and who you want to be finally feels like yours. When was the last time you took the long way back to yourself? driveyou7home
I typed “home” into my phone, then deleted it. Instead, I let the car choose. Somewhere around mile seven, it hit me. Not as an instruction
But one Thursday evening, after a conversation that felt more like a collision, I got in my car. No GPS. No plan. Just a half-tank of gas and a strange pull toward the highway. then deleted it. Instead