Seventeen minutes on the ticking clock,
Seventeen minutes until I’m home.
Tearing through the sultry wind,
Gazing into its fearless, blue eyes,
I longed for the bold skies,
For them to pour down on me.
For I missed the rains,
And I missed the sweltering warmth alike.
I missed every bit, every fragment of my memories,
Dancing around those flickering streetlights.
Clenching my bag closer to my chest,
I waited for the seventeen minutes to end.
I held back the tears resurfacing,
Reminiscing in the familiarity, I watched the roads bend.
I finally felt my feet touch the ground,
Easing the strained lines on my face.
A strange sensation in my heart,
I felt a little lost, a tad misplaced.
Just then my tired, weary ears,
Heard the mellow creak of the door.
I walked into the unpretentious, welcoming air,
The amber walls I remember, the perpetually cold floor.
And I knew I was finally here,
Among the familiar, warm smiles, among my own,
Amid my life, my family, my memories,
I had never been happier than I was to be back home.