home.

In your absence, scents seem to linger, even when they’re perhaps not part of reality. It is my truth, the only one I know, the only truth I can understand, and the one I’m sharing with you. Surrendering to flashes of reminiscence when blissful butterflies flutter little nerve endings, closing my eyes I saw yours close to mine.

Minus distance. My Bruce and Wallace, is home an act of remembrance?