A low whirring noise-

almost grating on my ears.

If I concentrate, I can hear a high-pitched wailing as well.

It pounds on my head like hoof-beats digging into my grey matter.

But it does not matter,

because I will miss this place.

The hum of the computer, no matter how annoying, will be missed,

the warm embrace of these walls,

of the hallways,

the honeyed glow of the atmosphere,

the encomium,

the sense of welcome,

the feeling of home,

all of these things will be missed.

And let's not forget

the old, cushy couch,

the soft breeze through the screen door in the kitchen,

the eager, wet tongue of the dog and her sharp little teeth pricking my toes.

I won't forget that special place in my bed,

that precise nook that cradles me to sleep,

or the sunshine glowing blue on my floor through the navy curtains; billowing as if they were the sea.

Recall that secret lamp that glows into the wee hours of the morning,

and the furtive fluttering of the pages as I read early into the day.

The smell of hot soup and tongue-scorching cocoa,

and the feel of loving arms.

That big old tree in the front yard,

and the back-yard, so full of wonder and echoes from childhood memories.

The little old play-house, its paint chipping and wood decaying,

the piles of dried firewood.

And don't forget the young, darting baby rabbits.

But most of all, I don't dare to forget the smiles on my sister's faces,

that mysterious spark I see in their eyes when they look at me;

as if they are saying: come, come, let's travel to another world today. Come away with me, come away...

And I wish I could.

I wish so badly I could.

I wish so badly and so strongly

that I could.

My wishing power is almost gone,

my heart almost hollow,

my will to live nearly sucked-dry.

If only I could fly,

fly away with them into their lands of fancy.

But I am called away.

I am afraid I will never be here again.


I will miss this place.