Rustling trees
and an open sky
Reminds me of
my home,
a home that
doesn’t exist
here or there,
that only
exists in nostalgia,
in the soft
pain inside my chest, that erupts every now and then
A home that is
as alive as my childhood
Breathing
gently into the corner of my youth, holding on to my growth
Loving the
parts that are yet to heal, making space inside me to embody foreverness...
I am the rustling
trees and an open sky
I am my
nostalgia, I am (my) home
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