Leaving the other home always gets the better of me, and as soon as we leave and depart our town on the long train, I always manage to start missing it already. The moment I sit upon a seat aboard our train, flashbacks of our great holiday with our italian family start to appear across my mind and eyes, and I start to miss it even more. It feels like a tragedy, some sort of life trap; leaving the sea, my family and friends, it’s summer spirit and music reaching upwards towards my house from lidos. The darkness I feel, the sadness once again haunts me at times once I’ve calmed and told myself “don’t worry in another year you’ll see them” but a year takes forever to pass. Many tears start to gather in my eyes during the journey, as I hang on and resist the temptation to shed them. But then I can’t no more, and I start to miss my other life.

I love the sound of the tyrrhenian sea rushing towards me in waves at the beach.

I love the footsteps of my grandmother tap the tiled surface of the apartments my grandfather and his brother built together.

I love the music which enters my ears from below the forest.

I love the warm sun reflecting from the dinosaur shaped island.

I love the hot nights where I shove my cat away from cuddling me.

I miss my other home