Originally posted by: kaamchorniReading this, I was him.
This child, who played and teased and laughed.
This boy, who cribbed and grew and indulged.
This man, who left, who returned and who has now finally been set free.
I was all of these people. I felt as if I was coming home.
There's a heaviness at the start of the piece, as if the nostalgia that had acquired had started to weigh him down. And then slowly, very slowly and very gently, it began to dissipate. The further into the heart of the house, the lighter he - and his life and his house in my mind's eye - became. It was all leading up to somewhere and someone and when those two someones appeared, I became apprehensive. I got that feeling that you described...the 'what if the key doesn't work?' feeling. What if they don't welcome him home? What if their response brings the heaviness back? What will he (what will I) do?
But parents never disappoint.
A beautiful piece, Mayonnaise, and one amongst many more to come, I hope.
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