Missing home, again.

Golden haze, dancing across the tops of the grass. These memories are etched into your very being, sewn into the fabric of your soul.

And that’s good.

There comes a point in growing up where you have to face the brevity of the past; it flew by without even bothering to give you a warning before it was gone. At least, that’s how it feels. Unbeknownst to the hurting heart, memories never leave us, and neither do those moments. Caught in time, those evenings wrote themselves into eternity. As the sun draped itself across the fields and into our minds eye, we created something that’ll never be lost. Each second just as precious as the last. Close your eyes, find yourself back home. It’s not far now. Halcyon horizons, beckoning.