Coming home
Pushing these thoughts out of my head, I put my hand on the door handle of my old house. I open the door and walk in. Things are exactly how I remember them, everything in the exact place it was before I left. The house is clean, and tidy. I look around and call your name, but I hear no answer. I realize how late it must be, thinking you must be asleep. The wind outside picks up, the light from the moon dims, I hear the faint sound of thunder in the distance. It’s rainy season in...