The road is often overgrown. There are brambles of regret to clear and long stretches of silence where the only company is the rhythm of your own heart. But with every mile, the air grows more familiar. You begin to recognize the landmarks of your own joy: the way you laugh when no one is watching, the songs that make you feel invincible, the peace that settles when you stop apologizing for existing.
The sun dipped low, painting the sky in bruised purples and gold, as the first step was finally taken. For a long time, "home" had been a hollow word—a memory of a porch light or the scent of rain on dry pavement—but today, it became a destination. let_us_begin_the_journey_home
The porch light is flickering, but it’s on. The key is already in your hand. The journey has been long, and you are tired, but you are finally exactly where you need to be. Step forward. The door is already open. The road is often overgrown
