Atarah
The softness of the forest mud was replaced with the hardness of my cot. I was no longer in the woods. But in my own room, sleeping on my cot, with a blanket covering my sleeping frame. The petrichor aroma of the wet mud was replaced by the smell of the old books and woods. The earlier was a nostalgia of what I had lived last night and the latter was the reality that always followed my yearning. Ansel was my craving, my need, my want. But this place was where I would always belong. A place where an old man would always be waiting for me.
I don't remember what happened last night after I fell asleep on him. I don't remember anything but waking up in my room, on my cot with a blanket covering me. I don't remember Ansel carrying me home. I don't remember when he got up from my lap a
