threading a journey called home, fragment by fragment. Missing the flavour of homes, of the warm greatings, of the tearjerker goodbyes.
I see your soul up there, gliding on the beautiful sky. smiling at me, your calculator smiles.
when memories trickle you down to blurred silhouette, and yet, the place refuses you to go.
I think sometimes the world needs more letters, heartfelt and handwritten. Making the most elusive English summer.