Homesick for a Place that Doesn't Exist
9:36 AM
I clung to a man as we rode on the motorcycle. Sun streamed on the edges of every foliage that left them glowing in amber. The wind brought a distinct scent. The tarmac road bent, leading to a sharp curve. There's a growing gentle chanting of cicadas and my instinct, in all its clarity, knew this is home.
This was a recurring dream from my childhood that made me travel the world.