Last week I opened the door to my parents' house and was greeted by the sweet smell of incense burning on the altar. Since my stay here my clothes have taken on this scent, every bit of it clinging to the fibres, to my hair, permeating my pores. I love this smell. It is constant, never changing, lingering in the background. Whenever I smell this scent, I feel like I am finally home. My toes touch the familiar light grey carpet, my hands slide along the wooden banisters, my head rests on the soft pillow on my bed...I am home again.

It feels different somehow, this time around. I can only imagine what it would be like.
The gears shift into motion.
Starts, stops. Starts and stops.
Starts.

* * * * * * * *

Hey you
Perfect stranger

Yes
It's me