Love lived here, and remains.
I left for France forty years ago. An ocean of living has happened since then. Other homes. Another language. Other versions of myself.
And yet, stepping back into these rooms, I discover that some part of me never packed a suitcase.
I have been here all along.
Waiting beside familiar shelves, beneath familiar ceilings, knowing what every drawer holds.
Where the child you were and the person you became sit beside one another—
Where everything is still in its place—
so am I.
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