Coming home

My steps are getting faster, and I feel my heart start racing with excitement. Though I haven’t reached my final destination yet, a big grin already decorates my face. For months, I have been waiting to walk up the stairs that allow me to come home.

It feels like forever before I reach the first floor. And, there are still three to go. Full of zest for action, I keep struggling towards my goal. Second floor. Third floor. The breathing starts to become difficult by now, and the rising pain in my legs does not help either. But since I’m almost there, I won’t let anything stop me. As I arrive on the fourth floor, coming home seems real.

One more step until I reach the last little obstacle. I look excitedly in my pocket for the key, and fortunately, I can find it soon after. Slowly I put it into the door lock. My hand gently begins to turn it around. While the bolt unlocks, it causes the creaking noise that sounds so well-known.

As the door opens, a familiar smell pours into my nose, which my memory associates with so much: Joy, anger, fear, love, and security. A nest, a treasure chamber full of everything that I am longing for. I soak up the moment because I know that if I open my eyes, I’ll quickly find out that coming home is still not possible.



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