I wrote a shortstory yesterday...
And then he moved out again. Just another farewell. just another place
to live. Oh how well he knew the meaning of the word 'farewell'! But
what does it feel like to be home? He'd forgotten. Or did he ever knew?
There'd been so many places he called 'home' while speaking with others,
but there was no place he would call home in his heart. No place where
he belonged to. No place he could always return to. It was like it has
been this way, as longas he could remember. A new city,, new people
around, a new apartment to live in. His place to eat, to sleep, to spend
his time. But again this wasn't HIS home. He glanced at the poster of
Kyotos Kinkakuji on his wall. The golden temple, the clear blue sky and
the bright green trees aound on this photograph seemed to be almost the
only colors in his boring room.
Oh how would it feel to go there? How
often did he wish to visit Japans ancient capital. The longer he stared
at the poster, the more he wished to go there. To be there must feel
like being home. He was sure. Kyoto was the only place he ever wished to
go to and although he'd never been there before and just knows a lot
about this city, he suddently knew, this is, where he belongs to. He was
sure this is were he's home.