There’s always something new upon returning
Every returning time is a new snowflake
of a wave crashing onto the same beach
The one you grew up on,
so you know the landscape
But surely can't remember every little grain of sand you displaced
Upon returning home
the smells first impress
And you’re unable to shake the feeling of familiarity
That same sense that greets you like an open door
That is stood before the blizzard hellscape outside
In fact that first olfactory port
Is enough to make you distracted
As one couldn't turn their nose to be rid of it
From what the blanket of smell seeks to cover
The truths that you left, and left unanswered
All the gaps you dared not question
Discrepancies
Stories told wrong
Features not there
The smell could only wash over newest grains of sand
And reminds you that the old ones are too hard to remember
Being the nature of the grain of sand, you are supposed to be reminded of the dynamic
To be washed over
But still it is haunting to think
Why that smell has so much control
When the details lack
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