Is what this pull feels like. To be nestled with a cup of tea within four solid and familiar walls.

The self-justifications for going home are emotively sophisticated and comforting. At every small stumble (or even when things are going exactly to plan which is much scarier) the head-choir starts singing the praises of going home.

But we left for good reasons. The future home we are hoping for probably exists in the depths of unknown things. Looking into those depths I perceive them as the murky dregs of vanity, but that is an illusion too because I cannot see what is down there.

Go spelunking for that next home. Drink to the dregs.