The place where you can prance around in your pajamas, tie your hair in a bun and drag yourself off the floor.
Where you can slump into the couch and watch reruns for hours while immersing your sorrow in a tub of chocolate ice cream.
When breakfast can be had at 1, lunch at 5, dinner at 12 and a piece of dense chocolate cake at 3 in the morning, cause it ain’t never to late to have dessert.
But is that what a home is supposed to mean?
So, go out.
Meet new people, even if you want to stay holed up in your pillows and quilt.
Stand in the sun, and feel the warmth on your face though all that you feel within is damp, cold.
Talk, laugh and smile, practice. And with time the lump in your throat when someone asks about him, the stabbing pain will get pushed away, deep down, somewhere. That is all what you need for now and let time work its way out.
Home is a place to rest.
We are too young to be this sad, tired and worn out, no?