Feb 01
Emilia Perry's picture


I walk into the empty house, sunlight filtering through the open door behind me. I've never been here before, and I am shocked with a sense of such strong familiarity, I can almost taste it. But it's not a bitter, unwanted taste. It's sweet and thick like honey, and propells me forward. I continue on, my feet knowing exactly where to go, as if following a predestined path. Despite the peeling paint and splintering wood, there is such a strong energy in this foreign place. The dust particles seem to vibrate, sending out shockwaves that lift the hairs on the back of my neck. It is in this moment I am struck with the realization of why I was drawn here, of all places. It was not my home, but it was someones. I can sense the generations that have lived and loved inside this space, the years of sunsets, and sunrises, that cast a golden glow, much as it is doing now. I walk back out the door, taking one last glance at this house, a playful wave on my fingertips, and a gentle 'see you later!' dancing on my lips. 
Emilia Perry's picture
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