The way home

 

              The way home.

        

“Roads are made to be traversed. Good or bad it’s a path for you to decipher.”
I would want to run and slide down mountains just for the thrill of being alive. Though my knees knock and tremble as I think of adventure. I think adventures are for born gallivants.     I admire you. I think had I been born with a bone for adventure,  I’d never be a Mrs. I imagine you a Mr and it’s easier. You can just wake up and leave. Though your slate roof beckons you or a wife, maybe your dog. It calls you home.
Home isn’t a place without you dearest, so go;Go home.    For the sake of us; the humanity we hold fast of, go home. And this time, make it a home. The empty walls seek for a master to belong to. Or a mademoiselle that dreamt her whole life to be a wife. Women dream when they are little, to built homes and marry a prince. Little do they know that it’s silly as heck. Well until you are 40, then reality steps in and you look around and that’s all you have. What’s beside you.     So home you go- when you get there you’ll look around and that’s what you need.        I use to think otherwise
but my age is a constant
reminder that I am not
like Emeline anymore rather
a Stewart. Hopefully better
looking than Martha.       Ever so,       Reine P   A book of letters Roxette: must of been love