Reveling in summer heat by the glittering sea, sun and salt and blue nailpolish on my bare toes, as my mother naps in the cottage nearby.
Blueberries, strawberries, raspberries with cream and sugar, dark coffee in old mugs, singing "Happy Birthday" and meaning it.
Lighting a candle and watching a film, wrapped in a wool blanket older than me, while the rain pounds on the roof.
Falling asleep in the white nights of June or the pitch-black nights of August, in the peaceful silence of the forest.
Making banana pancakes while kitchen windows steam up from the heat of the frying pan, the smell of fruit and vanilla filling the air.
Making the same lame jokes as we've done for years, around a red table as twilight falls and the dog is trying to sleep.
Staring out to sea and the silhouette of the islands, knowing they are always there for me, holding on to my happy memories and my melancholia.
Walking along a tiny forest road, feeling the weight of the mystery, feeling the peace.
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