Nostalgia. Is more than a memory. My parents' house has a smell. A taste. There is a solid in the air, tangible, and your fingers relax in it. No matter the couch your ass sinks in it. And suddenly, there you are, home. And some say that it is because of a country. Or religion. Or food. And some say what they will say, but for you it is about how your breath comes out nice and smooth and how your body relaxes no matter where it rests. That is home. And that exists beyond time or place. That exists with people.
No comments:
Post a Comment