Meaning of Life Creative Writing
Mariana Bustillo It was a warm dark night, the chimney was on, adding warmth to the hot weather surrounding the house. This house was meaningful because it’s the house where I spent my childhood Christmases, with my grandparents, mom, dad, aunts and cousins. My six-year-old cousin, was playing “Turkish March” by Morzart in piano, he was a prodigy for it, he was the best pianist of his class who often performed on the streets, earning applauses, compliments and money. This house surrounds me in a wave of nostalgia everytime I’m here, as if there was someone throwing a bucket of cold water into my whole body everytime I look at this house, but instead of cold water, nostalgia. The room was filled with the scent of pine and lavender, with the subtle smell of hot chocolate in all the room coming from the kitchen. I felt my world so calm in that moment, my heart was at peace, and my mind in blank. It was one of those moments where you know they’re never coming back, moments that ...