I'm going home tomorrow. It's been three months since I moved to the city centre. "Home is a state of mind," I keep repeating to myself, and there is some truth in it. Home is a feeling, a group of people, an occasion, a sort of nostalgia. A house might not be a home; sitting at a bus stop with a loved one might be. There's something tangible there too though. Home is an emotional space, but it's usually also a physical one. Something constructed out of thoughts and senses and moments. And roast dinners.
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