We hold the heads of our dead.
Indeed we set them free
With our blades
Stained red.

Hail Valhalla.

SPEAKETH MY BLOOD.

Honestly, I shouldn't be so damned negative. Like that last bit, with the horses. I should feel like the silver morning light looks at eight o'clock am in the summertime. That's always nice. Coldplay helps too, their new single is nice. sounds like the old stuff but new. I guess.
The nostalgia of home only hit when I got here, now I don't want to leave but rent must be paid. I must find a job and work and enjoy Buffalo's silver mornings and watch and feel the air heat as the day goes on. Warm and wet. Less so than here, but still. This is home and that makes it slightly better.
But I guess somebody said, somewhere, though not in as many words, that one's gotta make a home where one may be as long as one is going to be there for a while.
_roshen
Bright, I tell you.