It's coming. It's coming.
Nostalgia, returning. Watching far above those clouds, sailing with the wind.
Nostalgia is coming. In those grasses in the field. Returning, always awaited.
Coming from gentle western breeze. Nostalgia with the zephyr of a far place.
Every stroke of porcelain hands, the feeling of home sickness coming towards me. Nostalgic sight from the tree above the hills, to where I gladly returned. Old hymns of the forgotten keys, plucked and revived the old bliss. Nostalgia came to me. Long time buried days sprouted upon the rich soil of the forgotten field. Still playing the old tune of the keys and strings matched with the piece of time from a long ago, nostalgia stayed and went. Leaving no footprints neither to trace nor to remember.I watched as it slowly disappear. Someday I'll come back, in this place...in this days.
SFGS 23 Community Member 
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