She wasn't mourning him anymore; she was mourning the energy it took to keep his memory alive.
The "Home" she was searching for was the version of herself that didn't belong to him anymore. And for the first time, she could see the porch light flickering in the distance. She wasn't mourning him anymore; she was mourning
The "home" the album spoke of wasn't a house with a roof and walls. It was the moment she would finally wake up and realize his name was just a name again. She dreamed of the day she could look at his old sweater and feel nothing but the texture of the fabric. No ache. No sudden shortness of breath. No desperate urge to reach for a phone that would never ring with his name again. The "home" the album spoke of wasn't a