Home is where the sun never sleeps and the sea always just beyond the hills. The ebb and flow of those gentle waves live in my veins and forever stoke my longing. I think of home and always I think of Rose and the days bereft of her warmth how I thought it was the sea that birthed me. I think of Rose and all my words taste like the ocean. I think of Rose and my pillow becomes the sea. I think of Rose and how her absence has cast my nomadic feet on these foreign shores. I think of her and how I’ll never go back to those places that echo with her shadows and how her footsteps cloaked in memories always seemed just one step ahead of me. I think of Rose and home is a billion impossible places and impossible things in which I tried to find her.
No, I’ll never go back home.
But I think of Rose and every single night the streets of home return to me.