And this is true happiness.
Snow stained sparkles and red lipped laughter. Caverns of quilts shaped by a long missed embrace. Familiar scents and unforgotten laughter. Winding roads leading me back to the steps I once trod. The warmth of deep voices cradled by the tender taste of afternoon tea. The deep ginger of worn beards and the prickle of awfully grown moustaches. The jibes of merciless teasing, carving faces into permanent grins. The clattering of clay plates and the comfort of my mother’s food. The richness of wine intoxicating green eyes. The endless chatter of your breathless accent alight by fire in your personality. The sweetness of your soul and the unending hilarity of your sister’s jokes.
Once a place so entrenched in fear has finally become a haven.
The exorcism of my home town.