в гостях хорошо, а дома лучше
There is no place like home
East or West – home is best
I wish I could say that I feel home sick, but in the reality I feel sick about home. The home I left is being ripped apart by a political tornado, rampant violence, and opinionated voices that express general unhappiness about anything and everything. I wish to retain the memories of a childhood where one could play outdoors without fear.
To remember a time when opening bottles was a simple process
Going to school where kids could be kids, fist fighting and all but knowing that
no one would be bringing a gun to school to harm others.
Going into the woods and only worrying about big snakes and nothing else.
Toto, it’s not the home I remember anymore.