Memoirs of the Innocent

Home

I hear the clattering sounds of forks and knives in the background as people around me go through their lunch hour. I, on the other hand, has immediately stopped eating after I’ve had a serving of penne with tomato sauce. I go through the motions before checking my phone and accidentally clicking the calendar.

There, marked in bold, luring my eyes to the number, sits the date of my departure. It glares at me like a black eyed raven, daring me. I smiled immediately, images of white sands, clear blue water and familiar faces flash before my eyes. I’m going home for a short vacation. And, in the middle of this chaotic busy cafe, I sit feeling excited.

There is no place like home and I can’t even begin to describe feeling.

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