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Georgia. I want to go back to Georgia and visit my old home. Georgia is important to me because it's where I grew up. I never expected to leave that state. I want to go back and see my old friends. I want to drive through my old neighborhood and if I'm brave enough, sit across the street from the house that I grew up in and reminisce. I left so much behind when I moved and this sometimes scares me away from traveling back to visit, but I don't want to forget my life there either. The most important thing to me about Georgia are the people I left behind. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. I miss my friends.

My old house. I close my eyes and my favorite memories in that house flood in. I see my room where all my friends and I would hangout. I see my walls filled with pictures and letters. I see my wall where I let everyone write on. It's filled with lyrics, inside jokes, and names of people that I took for granted. I see the catwalk outside of my room that overlooks the living room. I picture all the parties we had and remember how it was always filled with people. I see the window that so many birds flew into. The prettiest window in the house. I recall staring out of it all the time watching the sun and the rain.

I hear laughter from my family at the dinner table. I hear the crickets outside in the creek across the golf course. I hear all the tennis players as their voices echo through the neighborhood on a warm summer night. I hear my neighbors splashing and having a good time in their pool. I hear my old dog, Samson kicking his legs as he dreams about chasing rabbits. I hear my parents watching a movie while I try and listen in to figure out which one it is. I hear my brother and his friends playing ping-pong in the basement. I hear the quiet at the middle of the night.

I remember the feel of the carpet in my bedroom. It was the best kind of carpet. Full and comfy enough to lay on. It was the kind you could draw in because the fibers were so long. I feel the cold of the hardwood floors on my feet in the morning. I feel the driveway and the grass soothe my bare-feet on the way to let my dog out. I remember laying in the yard on summer night and staring up at the sky. I feel the grass and the dew starting to spread.

I smell rain. I smell the it in the most refreshing and calming way. Rain is beautiful like that. I inhale heavily as it pours and pours. I smell mom cooking something with sausage in it. I smell my brother as he walks by my room. I can smell him because he bathed in Axe. I smell the cleanliness of my room. It smells fresh with a little bit of flower.

I taste lemonade on the back porch with all my friends. I taste wine in the kitchen, that was my first time tasting it. I taste champagne at the table on Christmas Eve with my sister. I taste water as it brings me life on the tennis courts. I taste the chlorine in the neighborhood pool. I taste soda at my brother's birthday party. I taste a water balloon as it hits my face and bursts.

I would like to go back and gather all my friends for a road trip to the campground at the lake near our town. I cam picture it now. We all pile into my car, with my dog of course and head to a campground. We get there, set up camp and start exploring before dark. We go swimming in the lake and have a BBQ. It starts getting dark, so we sit around the campfire and sing songs while my brother and his friends play the guitar. We tell stories and laugh. We stay up late and sleep in until we feel the sun through our tents and hammocks.