∴ Everyone’s Heaven is different. . . for some, it is the city, brimming with life. The concrete flows through their veins like blood, and the lights echo in their words. For others, it is the wilds. The mountains, alone and uncaring at their peaks, bothered only by weathers most furious. The forests, bursting with life, too, but of a different kind.
I don’t know what my Heaven is. But if I am to choose a place to rest for now, I shall choose this old, run down house at the end of the road.