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..to the place where I really lived, grew and even stopped growing 😀 This is probably what I have closest to a feeling of a time machine.

My room.

My bed.

My study table.

My familiar view outside the window.

Mom calling downstairs for food.

Dad reading the newspaper.

Captain Jack running about messing everything up.

Mom’s food.

My Brother’s odd sleeping schedule.

The familiar breeze, the earth’s smell and sound of the birds.

 

There is no place like home. And there never will be.

 

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Young and the Rested.”

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