I cycled through my neighborhood under the scorching sun. Why would I do that? Surely, I was not silly enough to think that the heat would be enough to burn away my memories? I turned right and set my sight on an abandoned piece of land.
The place where my school used to be was covered with wild greeneries. What remained of the building was still there the last time I visited. It had turned into beds of greens, sleeping peacefully. A year was all it took.
I parked my bicycle on what used to be the gate. A few steps into the place, I found overgrown bushes of the very same white flowers someone gave to me a long time ago. The air carried that nostalgic scent.
No one likes saying goodbye to what they love. Sometimes they just leave silently. As long as they left enough footsteps inside me, it will be alright. I will always have a place to go next.
And a place to come home to.