(p.s.: The character in the following text is fictional just as the place, which is described)
Sunlight slowly tickled my nose. It was warm, yet annoying and a little frustrating. Then it moved to my cheeks, played with my eyelashes and started poking my left eye. Any normal, busy person, who was about to be late for another day at the tight and grey office, would jump up, quickly shave, put on his suit and run to the closest subway station. But that wasn’t me. I squinted and opened first my right, and then my left eye slowly, very slowly. This morning was just like any other one, during which I woke up for the last 20 years, soft, kind, warm and calm.  After all those years of traveling, I could finally adore this marvelous and shiny moment.
Heading to the kitchen to get some coffee, it’s already warmed up, I just need to pour it. This moment always makes me smile. She is already working in the garden. And why can’t she stop titivating this small piece of ground, covered with grass and trees?  I move towards the terrace now passing the cabinet, a gigantic library, a reminder about my past home. Wooden shelves with tons of books, fictional and scientific, thin and thick, old and new. Sometimes I just sit in the middle of these masterpieces of human kind and wonder about anything I want, from thoughts about humanity to what to do for today’s dinner.
I grab some papers and a pen, no need for a laptop these days, finally walking out on the wooden-floor terrace and inhaling the morning breeze coming from the lake. Feeling the morning wind hitting and caressing my face with life and nature wasn’t something common for me. During my travels, I experienced wind cutting, striking, burning my skin with anger and loneliness in the driest deserts and hopeless canyons. I heard scarce and desperate whispers of the winds, coming through wooden floors in the half-destroyed buildings full of thin and weak kids, who were forced to steel bread from the baker and apples from the gardens. The scars of the past will never disappear from my life, yet they tighten up.  Now, drinking my morning coffee and having a person, who I owe my current life to, near me and loving me, makes me think: did I waste my life? Or was it all just for this very moment? Sitting here on the terrace of my small house, made in a traditional Asian architectural style, on the lake shore with a boat tied to the pier being jolted on the morning waves, these questions keep coming and poisoning my mind every day. Every day, I remember their faces, left in order for me to live, to fulfill my life, to actually live it like normal people do. I’m pretty sure, anyone reading this right now, will know what guilt is, but have you ever experienced your friend walking towards the plank and then with the words “Live your life for me”, have his head chopped off in front of thousands of people. I would never forget that smile. I buried it in my mind. I buried it in this garden, in this house, in this home. I will never forget either of you guys. I promised that we would find our place and I did. I achieved everything that I promised to you guys, and I thank you all for what you have done in order for me to do so.
The coffee cooled and the sun went behind the clouds. She finished her work for the day and started working on the lunch. Time to wrap it all and go home. Finishing the pipe and closing the journal, I looked once again on the two stones in the back of the garden, with ‘M’ and ‘N’ on their straight white gravel skin. Smiling, I turned away and walked inside the house. Home, sweet home.