eckhaus
What is home? What does it mean? Is it the city where I was born? Is it the city where I grew up? Is it the city where I live? Is it the people I live with? Is it my family? Sometimes I ask myself these questions. Sometimes when I follow the streets I go so often, where it seems to me that my tracks are burned into the stones, o when I see the houses like this I have seen so many times before, I ask myself: Is this your home?
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