the smell of thanksgiving dinner curling out from a warm kitchen.
 the splash of pool water and the chaos of a dog racing down the hallway. 
joy woven into the scent of memory and movement. 
chris renzema’s melodies weaving through quiet rooms, 
the quiet struggle of a laugh trying not to break free, 
my pap singing beside me — the road humming with memories.
 mimi’s kitchen soft with stories and steam, 
a field stretched beneath a setting sun, 
the salt air of naples brushing against sun-warmed skin. 
spontaneous dance parties beneath kitchen lights,
 quiet moments on the back porch,
 the thrill of trying something new at the stove. 
Jesus — constant, grounding.
 my best friend’s voice like an anchor, 
my mentor’s wisdom, 
my grandparents' love threaded into the rhythm of my life. 
home is a photo tucked in the pages of my bible, 
a childhood stuffed animal still keeping quiet watch,
 a note scribbled in messy handwriting that says more than the words ever could: 
“i see you. i always have.” 
this is where my heart returns… 
not to a place, but to the people, moments, and melodies where love has always lived.