coming home is as close to time-travel as i may ever get. the nostalgia drips from my skin.
it mingles with the dampness of my sweat. it seems to remember the cool swimming hole, & the blue t-shirts.
my body remembers more than my mind. a smell, a sound, the sensation of an embrace.
impressions linger longer & i mull the taste of home over in my mouth. it is sweet.
i can’t help but miss the familiarity. i can’t help but miss the ease. i can’t help but miss
you. don’t wait for me, at the top of those stairs. i’ll be there when i can, it’s only a matter of time.
Sophie Nankivell, Poetry Editor