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Navel

It’s a weird feeling.  Yes, ‘weird’, for lack of a better word.  This disconnect that sometimes happens between mother and daughter. To know that she was indeed your first home.  But now.  You must be home.

A plot of land.

Four walls.

A roof.

A shore for the weary.

And a lighthouse for the lost.

You can’t help it.  The urge is inherent.  You will spend forever.  Trying to build a bridge.  And the construction is louder than the destruction.  And if it wasn’t for the flames, you could both get to buildin’.