It isn’t just the house I miss.
The sunflower yellow kitchen. The light streaming through the French windows, warming a spot on the carpet where the cat would sleep. It’s the noises that make up a home. Waking to the sound of crashing waves, the creak of the third stair whenever someone stepped on it, the screech of seagulls as I walked Ella to school, her small hand wrapped in mine. The crunch of shingle underfoot as I strode across the beach on the way home - salt air filling my lungs.
I miss those sounds. I miss you.
Photo courtesy of The Reclining Gentleman
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