Maybe,
Maybe home is not always a place.
Maybe home is a pair of arms that wraped around you on a cold rainy nights.
Maybe home is the fuzzy feeling you got whenever the autumn wind blew your hair.
Maybe home are those 2 packs of cigarette that you suck at 3 am on a hotel room in Paris.
Home is everything that makes you feel safe.
Home is everything that makes you forget all your sorrows.
Somebody, please take me home.
