i think i’m more scared of going home than i’ve admitted to anyone

i guess this counts as a confession, so here it is: i’ve been telling everyone, including my boyfriend, that i’m “just taking my time” with this trip… but the truth is i’m kinda scared to go back home at all. it hit me today in a grocery store parking lot in montana of all places. i was sitting in my car eating a protein bar because i was too lazy to make a real lunch, and this thought just dropped on me like, “what exactly are you going back to?” and it freaked me out. i love my boyfriend, i do. or at least i think i still do? i miss pieces of us. but i don’t know if i miss the version of me that existed before i started traveling. i feel different now—like more awake or something—and i’m terrified that home will make me shrink back into someone i don’t fit into anymore. and then there’s this guilt because he keeps asking when i’ll be back, and i keep giving vague answers like “soon-ish” or “after this next stop.” i can hear the disappointment in his voice sometimes, and pretending i don’t notice it is starting to feel crappy. i guess the confession is: i’m not sure if i’m avoiding going home because i’m not ready… or because deep down i know things won’t feel right when i get there. anyway. i’ve never said that out loud, not even to myself, so here it is.