I miss home. I miss it a lot.

I miss a random night out in Atlanta, probably to Blake’s, and going to Waffle House after. Those cheese grits and hash browns covered with the sweet tea always slap.

I miss side-eying the white gays at the bars in Midtown.

I miss going to a random club and hearing “Knuck If You Buck.”

I miss being able to get in my car and drive down 285 to see a friend, or to a cousin’s apartment in the city, or to family’s places.

I miss walking around Atlantic Station, Downtown, or somewhere else and seeing GSU friends randomly.

I miss my mom waking me up at the crack of dawn when I visit. Is it me or are older Black folks always up when the roosters are?

I miss my dad lecturing me about better spending habits and things I shouldn’t do. I miss laughing when I ask him, “didn’t you do that?”

I miss looking at my siblings and cousins when they’re tripping and saying “You got me fucked up.”

I miss my grandmother walking past me while I nap on the couch in the den, her tucking me in with a blanket she finds, and making sure I have a pillow.

I miss my grandmother saying if you’re in my house on Sunday you’re going to Sunday school and church.

I miss day drinking at El Som in Statesboro.

I miss the chewy cake from Harry’s in Claxton with that red drink.

I miss my niece looking at me like “I’m about to get you sucker” and conning me out of toys, sugar, and everything else.

I miss the humidity.

I miss the Jamaican lady on Memorial Dr. in Stone Mountain who has the best macaroni and cheese I’ve ever tasted.

I miss V103 and Frank Ski and Wanda in the morning.

I miss Zaxby’s, Cookout, Dairy Queen, and Publix subs.

I miss Georgia. It has its fair share of issues, complications and things but it’s home.

Someone send me some Georgia love.