I’m home again, and walking down the deserted gulley that curves around my house. It was here that I half learned to cycle with my brothers (no one ever took our training wheels off), it was here that I skulked with friends on humid summer evenings. In this picture you see can the shadows of my brother and I, walking in the still warm winter air. The lights are a shade of golden I can’t find anywhere else but home. A man snores through his ramshackle powder blue window, his face sliced into sections by the window screen. A woman stares out, cooking in a worn out metal pan, watching us. She in her sari, me in my hoodie. Wires criss cross against the charcoal sky and meet the green trees, and the golden light filters through it all. My brother says it’s time to turn around and go home. I follow him, at peace.




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