There's something in the air that reminds me of the time when I was this young teenager coming home from school on a hot summer afternoon. It's been there for the past few days. It's probably the warmth and the quiet of the summer that's stirring up this nostalgia. There's a stillness in the air that is arousing an inexplicable urge to run home to my mother, to tell her every little detail of my day in school as she quietly smiles and goes about her work; patiently ignoring all the excruciating details bubbling out of childish mirth, yet never failing to ask the right questions so I would never know. I want to pillow fight with my sister and then cuddle her like no tomorrow. I want to spend my evening watching Dexter's Laboratory as I wait for my father to come home.

The evening air is heavy with memories and an almost childish longing for love. The one that's uncomplicated, unconditional, without expectations of anything in return. The kind that gets lost; buried under the weight of age, "maturity", "social propriety" and the likes.

I can feel the warmth of the air kissing my cheeks as I walk on the road. I can see the light wisps of cloud making a heart in the azure sky. I can heard the chirping of a bird or two and the scrunch of the pebbles under my purple sandals.

If only I could enjoy this without remembering where I am. If only I didn't have to grow up.