Home is where the heart settles

Home is where the heart settles

Always the house of our dreams passes stages and shapes depending on the life we choose- or the life has chosen for us- the status we are obligated to live, the opportunities we share with faith. Far or close to our dream house is the way of life that follows, its cohesive style, the “musts” that have been ordered by the society.
Many times, trapped by all these lousy categories and suffocating rules I wish I could escape. Often, and more often lately, I embrace my bed pillow and by closing eyelids my mind goes resting in a small cottage built on a quiet mountainside. It’s a small warm place that you may cover its size by one sight. All around are made from stone & wood and in its one corner a bronze woodstove. Kitchen, living & sitting room are one. In one wall are shelves with books and on the other are hung paintings, caricatures and icons. A big window gives open sight to the bluff, the sky and the far opposite mountains. A wooden stair drives up where is a tiny bedroom with a big window, too. It’s something like eagle’s nest. Outside will be the garden for growing green groceries and fruits.
The fact that the next morning I’ll wake up in this large apartment with the rather cold and arrogant neighbors in a small wonderful city but with a burden stress divided in portions to each one of its inhabitants that makes me to embrace my pillow with the same fiction every night.
Finally, I accept reality. I appreciate that I’ve a home to live in. Furniture aren’t in my taste and but I must accept them. I should surpass all these if it si to follow. I don’t have the materialistic things I don’t desire in my life and I compromise with the fact that home is where the soul settles. Fuc… that’s my dream house! It is the place where an everyday chosen routine will pet the hours and cure anxious moments of concentration. It is the serene island one bus stop before paradise. It’s the eternal shelter. My soul… rests on a far mountain.
Where can I fly with broken wings? Nowhere. That’s exactly compromising with the home that houses my dreams. And it’s been buried under a… pillow.


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