Coming Home


I am haunted by the living. By those I have left behind. Each turn on these roads holds a lifetime of memories. And only now, as a mother, am I able to appreciate the worlds that I have forgotten. 


I had forgotten the whisper of the trees. The rustling of a thousand leaves at once. These secrets the forest tells.


Saudade. All the heartache in the world could not contain my sorrow when I first heard that whisper again. How could my heart have forgotten something so beautiful? How could I have lived without it this long and not felt its absence? How numb my soul must be.


How numb I am still without it.