Going home

Peace goes to bed with war, wisdom with folly. 
The troubled world is also, quiet tranquil.
Hope inhabit the same soul that often fights despair. 
Beautiful roses share spaces with ruthless thorns. 

Our imagination of home, gets complex when we imagine it, inserted in perfection.

The world that embraces winter nights, prepares, with the same vitality, for the long and sticky summer nights.

It is a twisty  road

You may take it as a group, but you have to still walk – and feel the unevenness of the road, maybe even hit your toe against a stone. Sit a while, calm the sting. But beware, home is not yet in sight, there is a distance to cover, but the night is fast approaching. 

Walk on. 

Home is being emotionally present, while embracing the ever evolving subtleties that frame our meanings.
Home is made, it is personal. I am home, yet going home. 

Home is probably always moving, maybe even imagined

There is probably no destination, it is a place in our mind, we occupy yet still going to.

Home.

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