and right now, i don't have a home anymore. it's just a place for me to stay. i keep lying to myself, calling it a home. it's not a home really. it doesn't feel like a home. it is filled with emptiness. an empty warmth especially. it feels better outside, in the cold. the cold is real. it feels real. and it actually gives comfort. it's not empty, not empty at all. which is why i rarely spend time at the place where i can stay. i don't know.
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