I walked out of the building, onto the stairs, down three stairs and five steps to the right. The wet, sandy gravel crunches under my new shoes. I feel the air, and the warm, soft inner lining of my sweatshirt and the soft feeling of often worn jeans around my legs. My breaths are simple and unhindered by smoke, exhaust, or smells; it is easy to breath, easy to inhale, and a joy to exhale because it means I am going to breath the sweet clean air again soon. My eyes adjust to the soft brightness that has lasted for four days, a light that never leaves, and gives no definition between night and day. To one side I can see beyond the building, a small bay surrounded by green and gently touched like a fingerprint as the slow wind runs his fingers across the surface. In front of me is the road I stand on: fine gravel and sand and water, pitted and smooth, starting one side at the water and at the other side, ending in a field of wild plants. The road has a store, a city building, a church and houses; all placed in order as if they were toys randomly chosen from a toy chest. A little girl walks up to me with the walk of a child and an old friend. She jumps up to my chest and gives me a hug that will never be forgotten. She shows me what it means to love a friend that is now family. She shows me myself in that hug like no mirror could. Almost as if in the blink of my teary eyes later I am waving goodbye to her as I walk onto the airplane. She is only a little girl I just met, but I am leaving my little sister who I look up to so much. I should have stayed with my family, but I left to go back to the people I live with, that tell me I am related.
