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It’s been 27 days,
Almost a month,
It may not seem like a lot to you,
But to me, it’s an eternity.
I’ve sailed through the summer,
Never in irons,
Always on a reach.
I’ve waded through swamps,
And sat under waterfalls.
Never knowing what’s coming next,
And loving it.
But now, as I hear the dead, brown grass,
That was once a vivid green crunching under my feet,
And see the sky turn from a soft pink,
To an electrifying blue,
When I feel the warm embrace of the last hug,
I know that it’s time to go.
I hold tight, like a five-year-old who doesn’t want to leave her mother’s arms,
Afraid that if I let go,
This will all be over.

Home to me,
Isn’t about a nice house and a warm bed,
It’s so much more than that.
Home, is the lake.
Home is lying on the tennis courts at two in the morning,
And looking up at the dazzling stars.
Home is portaging five kilometers,
And roasting marshmallows to perfection over a blazing fire.
Is home.

It’s been 27 days,
Almost a month,
And in three hundred and sixty-five more,
I’ll be home again.

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