I like to wander alone. The forest often whispers my name, as I pass by it, calling me, urging me to step inside and explore the mysteries it holds. I can never refuse its call. And as I’m there, with my eyes closed, isolated completely, with no one, just the fresh, crispy smell of an early morning around me, I get a peculiar sense of being in a distant, magical place. The place I call home.
I always knew what home felt like. I always longed for it, even though I never realized that it was a real place. One of my origin, perhaps. I always knew I’m from a faraway land, where magical creatures all live in harmony, breathe as one, and every night gaze upon the stars together. Every night they dance and laugh, perform magic tricks and tell each other ancient tales from the lands of their own and that of the foreign. So many of those nights had I been there with them, and though I can’t remember much, the feeling of their splendor had always been ingrained in me – the soul that is residing on earth at the moment.
As I open my eyes again, the forest seems familiar. It feels as if I traveled home and came back, bringing a tiny bit of it with me to this planet. As I walk through the depths of the forest, I feel that that land, whose name I still can’t remember, is inside me, and yet so far away up to the great grey sky at the same time. The feeling lingers in my heart, warming it, calming it down, and yet, tearing it in such a gentle way, as I remember once again, how much have I missed home.
Do you miss yours?