Zoltan's Nest

I am here with a family, in Budapest. It feels like home. Away from home, away from home. Wherever that may be. To each of us something. Perhaps different.

I call it 'Zoltan's nest.' I hope one day for... I just hope. It's a thing of beauty. To feel the warmth. Of the home. Of some people's love. Unnecessary and gorgeous. Surprising and special. All consuming.

Hold me in your heart and never let me go. Each of us could be everything, if only we looked outside. I owe you it all. How can I ever deliver? How indeed. To want to show the hand we hold. I look into eyes and see kindness and swallow, I look into the flames and I feel your embrace.

One day you will understand how much it all means to me. Maybe. I am better with written words than spoken ones. Those ones (the latter) never quite seem to hit the mark. We show, not say. I search for deeper chasms of demonstration. I seek you out and I find you there, at the centre of the nest, keeping it safe and warm, happiness glowing, overflowing, spilling from where once there was nothing. What a landscape, what a scenery you painted, what a castle you built. What a love. What a stunning love. There. Here. All around. Now.