Somewhere still are lying the books worth reading. There someone’s glasses are raising with dust.In that place the stamps are still waiting for the man that will еvaluate them. Some precious words on the sheet of the paper on the table still need to be finished.
There is my home.But what’s that all worth without him?! Could that all things live separately from him?! No. All they are full of sense only if filled up with my father’s spirit and heart. My home is in his heart which beats forever in my world