Shorts, Poems, and Imagines

Short #23: "Home"

I miss the sounds of chirping birds in the morning. I miss the humid heat and the faint sound of the air conditioning at night. Even though it barely even worked at night, I still miss it. I miss the red brick tainted walls. Tainted with childish writings made with crayons. I miss the wood and the creepy mirrors and windows at night. I miss the lace curtains that covered the windows at night and still let in sweet sunshine in the rooms.

I miss looking up at the night sky and still hearing bugs and croaking. The slight brush of the wind against your skin. I miss breathing in that fresh air that smelled of earth and leaves. I miss the sounds of my brother's guitar as he played his music, even though I have no idea what he's playing. I miss the white painted table that could fit everyone. The same table my mother and my three brothers helped paint. I miss the taste of sweet Philippine mango freshly out of the market.

I miss looking out the window and seeing big acacia trees waving at you. It's leaves green and every once a year it blooms violet and pink flowers. The folk tales those trees hold. I miss going outside and playing under the never ending summer. Finding new creatures and things everyday. I miss going back inside and smelling like the outside; earth, grass, and sunshine. I miss the view of trees and think as a child that I had this super vision of being able to see far far away. I miss all the green and the lack of asphalt and buildings.

I miss the pool and the fear of the deep end part of the pool. I miss my cousins coming over and everyone staying up at night just doing whatever. I miss the carpools and playing loud music in the car to distract ourselves from boredom and uncomfortableness in traffic as we went to our grandmothers house. I miss going to that house in the city where it was insanely hot, but the sound of your grandmother nagging was somewhat funny in a way (if you were a Filipino you would know how grandmothers and mothers acted).

I miss the parties that were full of fun even though most of the party members were adults. I miss the colorful paintings on the walls where the parties were held. I miss the loudness and chaos of everything. I miss my friends. How they would go to my house just to give me comfort at my worse days. I miss being able to write stories.

I miss all of that. I miss home. I'm not at home and I just hate this place.