She left but sometimes I think I left before her. She is buried in a fucking cementery, I don't know where my ashes are supposed to be. That day I lost myself, that day is not even the day she died, that day is not even related to her...that day I lost me and I don't even know which date was it!
And home, home is my bed and my dog in my arms when I wake up and realize it is still 3am and I can continue slepping, home is his arms and his mouth saying I love you while waking me up with kisses, home is both of us in a car watching the sunset in the middle of the highway, home is safety and sometimes it is so far away and some others, it is right in front of my crying eyes.
“I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them, then tell me why they loved you. Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through. Tell me what the word “home” means to you (...) "
Asking too much by Andrea Gibson