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Home.
I returned to my home after a long 7 years.
Seeing all those familiar places really brings a special kind of peace, even though so much has changed. My mom welcomed me by cooking all my favorite foods. She never fails to spoil me. My dad spent the whole day at home today because I came back.
The house hasn't really changed, yet everything feels different. The walls are new, the marble floors gleam with a strange brightness, the living room couches and dining table have all been replaced. But my bedroom⊠my sanctuary⊠remains exactly the same. The dark grey walls face me, quietly asking, "Why did you take so long to come back?" On them, colorful butterflies are painted, frozen in mid-flight, just like they were when I was little. I've always loved butterfliesâthey've always felt like tiny pieces of joy I could hold onto.
My bookshelves are still neatly lined with the romantic comic books I adored as a child, their spines familiar and comforting. On the nightstand, the vase with crochet tulips still sits there, delicate and bright. Mom had made those tulips for me when I was just ten, knowing how much I loved them. They feel like a thread connecting my past to this moment, a quiet reminder of who I am and where I came from.
After a long, steaming shower, I start unpacking my bag. As I pull out clothes, my hands brush against a photo frame I haven't touched in yearsâthe one I carried with me to Italy and brought back when I returned. In the photo, I'm smiling in a soft pink frock, and his hand rests gently around my shoulder. He's wearing the white shirt I gave him for his 17th birthday. Seeing it makes my chest tighten and memories rush back like a tide I can't hold back.
I run my fingers lightly over the frame, feeling the edges smooth, familiar, worn just a little with time. I remember the laughter, the quiet talks, the stolen glances, the little things that meant so much. The pink frock, the tulips, the butterfliesâthey all seem to whisper, "You're home now, and nothing has forgotten you."
And for a moment, I pause and let a thought linger: "Does he even know I'm finally back? Does he miss me as much as I've missed him?"
My heart aches with both longing and warmth, with the strange comfort that comes from seeing that some thingsâsome people, some memoriesânever truly change.