love/home

Love and home. So intertwined, they might as well be the same thing. Without love, I am a wanderer. “I’m just an animal, looking for a home.”

“This Must Be the Place.” A song whose title says that love and home are one. When there’s love, you’re home. “Home is where I want to be but I guess I’m already there. I come home. She lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.”

Love that’s real. Love that lasts. “And you love me ‘til my heart stops, love me 'til I’m dead.” Love that gives life meaning. “And you’re standing here beside me. I love the passing of time.”

Sometimes there is the illusion of love, a vision of love that evaporates into nothingness. “If love is the answer, you’re home.”

It may not be real but it can leave you awake and alive and yearning, yearning for a real love, yearning for a real home. “I need something more." 

And then, sometimes, maybe, if you’re lucky, there is real love. "I will hear your silent call. I will touch this tender wall, 'til I know I’m home again.”

Real love. When you can be real in the presence of love. A love that accepts all you’ve done and said. “'Til there’s nothing left out.” “The grand facade so soon will burn.” That’s home. There is no real home without that. 

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