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Wow, this is deep.
Home, to me, is a place where I can embrace my inner naturalists without fear of retribution. Yes, I run about nekkid a lot at home, so shut up. But home in the deeper sense of the word speaks to me in the sounds of the ocean and the whisper of faint breezes. Home is never too hot that it sucks out your will to live and never too cold that you feel as though the grave haunts your very breath. It sings of rolling hills that could easily hide Hobbit holes and honoured tombs of heroes long forgotten by the loveless ones. It's a land that harbours soft-spoken artists and echoes of merry laughter at any whim it fancies.
In 2006 I visited my home. It was England, My Lionheart. Someday, I'll make it back, but my ticket will only be one way.