When she landed in Austin she felt it again — that she was ‘back, but not ‘home’. She had accepted that she’d never know the certainty of ‘home’ after so many moves. But even still, part of her always anticipated the sensation of ‘coming home’. Its absence left her feeling stranded, like someone supposed to meet her just didn’t show up. It was more of a wafting nostalgia than a sharp pang, yet it picked at the scabs of identity and belonging, and the blood seeped out. Home. She looked around, nodded at the empty bustle, and left the terminal.