Coming Home

Long years make memories dizzy. But they still exit.
Living in a completely different world and then coming back to where you started.
Not much of a big deal actually, people do it all the time (Without realizing the finer nuances).
Anticipation is what kills you. Anticipation not just about others, but about yourself.

Let my shoulders bear the weight of those two boys again. A feeling quite forgotten, just images remain. I can try and take myself back to that very moment, but just images remain.
The warmth of her fingers against my neck when we embrace in a thoughtless moment. The sweet taste of her mouth, that zing of the celestial currents bestowed on her lips. That very moment, that exact second, the very point when she bats her luscious lashes, and the anticipation of living it again.

All this and the fear of having lost it all. Coming home is hard, similar to your first sexual intercourse, but certainly harder. The good thing is, in "real life" the slow mo option has been already unchecked and before you know, you've arrived.