Home is Where the Heart Is
Life was simpler when we were home, when photographs of that life sneak up on me they take my breath away. It hurts remembering. Such is the nature of homesickness, and of the grief of letting go of the past.
Life was simpler when we were home, when photographs of that life sneak up on me they take my breath away. It hurts remembering. Such is the nature of homesickness, and of the grief of letting go of the past.