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.
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’.