Reclaiming home

Traveling to the west, only a few hundred miles, is akin to traveling to another country, well in a way. I cross the river into the central lands and there are different words, dialects and postures. I knew it would have some variables, but when I find the truth of it, I find it preposterous. Within a finger's joint on the face of my map, I can be completely misread. So be it.

It's lovely to be home again. Although it's changed, I know I prefer it. It's still dark, cold and wet, for the most part, but it's home. You know how home can be hell, but it's your hell? Yes, you see. Even if you return in a mortal coil unknown, you return regardless.

There are too many places to go, you see, because there are too many portions of me. Hundreds more miles south of here, I will visit another home to me. When I close my eyes, I will be there, upon the banks of another river. Music will heighten senses and smells will reignite nostalgia. Bustling crowds and the sound of bells awaken my memories now.

Again, it will be different. Only a few hundred, many three, and the dialect will change, the mood will deepen and I will have to tap into something else. Within a finger's joint, I will travel to another world, a modern world, one that is foreign, in all aspects, to the world from before. Just as in distance, in time...I will be completely misread. So be it.