┋If I could take a picture of my brain,
Ashes in a field, and my mansion burnt to frames.
Once again, he had lost his home. He hadn’t come out of it unscathed. The only constants, his blade and his jacket, were all that he had left of value. Perhaps he could rebuild his home, or perhaps he would find another. Maybe it was all an illusion, and the warm hearth was waiting for him, burning lonely in that same place. Or perhaps, a home was never meant to be found, or had.
The hotel would have to do for the night. The white, lonely walls greeted him like an old friend, and the run-down bed offered little comfort. Outside, on the balcony, under the heavy, cold scrutiny of the stars, he looked into the distance.┋
✠ Thank you to my wife, Ryanna, for the support! Check her Flickr by clicking on her name!