today i am struck by a sudden yearning to be home.

which brings me to the question of what is home?

i miss the smell of rain, of raindrops dancing in the warm air, of cool breezes rustling the trees outside the window, sweeping across the tall grasses that make up the mountains i live in.

i miss the sound of the fan whirling, pushing and pulling stagnant air into playful fights with my hair tied back from my face.

i miss the absolute silence of a summer afternoon, when temperatures hit 40 and the world comes to a standstill, and the only thing flickering is the sunshine and the passing clouds.

i miss the sound of pots in the kitchen, condensation drops on lemonade glasses falling over each other in a race to hit the edge of the table, lazy lunches on a table and sibling conversation.

i miss the feeling of well-worn spines and 4 hours on the couch spent elsewhere constructing concealed gardens, red-haired protagonists and the shame of bronze boots.

i miss the musty smell of humidity, mixed with air-conditioning and the heavy stillness of air that can tasted as it sits serenely on the tip of your tongue.

i miss the rippling break of blue and white, washed up cans and the sizzling sounds of meat frying on a grill that is crusted and black with charcoal. the faint sounds of strings being plucked and the distant wingspan of an overhead flight.

i miss the curly brown hair of family with an attitude, of sprawled sleeping on the patches of floor and the occasional muffled snore made with comfort and ease.

i miss everything that home is.

13 hours apart and separated by another 4 months,

things have already changed.

and i smell it.

so strong it fills the space you leave empty,

nostalgia clinging on to the last remnants of everything that used to be.

beloved,

don't go.