I went away to college. I grew up and I changed, but so did you. You are different every time I return; old buildings are torn down, new ones are built. I hear there is even a new stop sign on the corner. But you are still the same town I grew up in. The same three stoplights I've ran a billion times. The same dirt roads I've sped down. Even the same books at the library I've read a few times. You are home, and always will be.

I want to say I'm sorry. I didn't always appreciate you. I took you for granted growing up. I had safe streets to walk down. Neighbors who knew my name. Family at every corner. I spent most of my time dreaming of far off places and praying I could leave you. When the time came, I couldn't get out of town fast enough and I swore I'd never return. I never knew I'd miss the church bells down the road, or the lack of sirens at night. I never realized that the familiarity of back roads was a blessing. It wasn't until I left I realized toilet papering houses was actually illegal. I never even knew my favorite places, until I couldn't go there everyday. I took you for granted and now our time together is few and far between.

Thank you for always being here. Thanks for never leaving. You are here when I need a place to go. Whether it's a weekend away or just pit stop on the road. Anytime I get homesick you are here. I take comfort in knowing I can return, even if it's just for a little while.

Thank you for the people. Most of which are pretty amazing. The teachers and coaches who taught me more than what's in the textbook or how to play soccer. The neighbors down the street who always bought my Girls Scout cookies. The parents of my friends who let me make there house my home every weekend. You are a great town built by amazing people.

You might barely be a dot on the map, but you were my whole world as a kid. I can name every place I fell off my bike and every "haunted" house. You made me into the person I am today. You are my roots, and without them I'd never grow.

You will always be a part of who I am.