home.

As the sun's rays shine down and melt the fallen gum onto the asphalt, i sit back and take in a breath of the crisp fall air.

There is something about home that makes me wonder why all the other things are the way they are.

The incandescent feeling of how the same faces still act in a similar manner.

Well, the drain is clogged with sludge and the repair guy cant come 'till the morning.

What will we do now?

"We can melt wax over the slain queen?"

But the mysteries of the attic still remain.

Home is like that old breakfast restaurant. No matter how long you are gone, everything is the exact same, like time had been frozen in a bottle.

Where the rings on the tree aren't as important as the leaves in the forest.

Often the rim of darkness creeps in and illuminates the thoughts in order to fulfill the needs of the populous.

"Black out in white night in Rome" leads the anthem of rebellion in the streets.

Home is the place where no explanations are needed.

Right is right and left is left.

The people march in order and always stop at red lights,

Drama is just a genre of movie,

and nothing is better than the smell of the square.

Dont stop believing in angles, and marching to the beat of the proverbial drum