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What if home is not a place nor a person?
What if it is the scent of a perfume that is no longer produced but still resides on your skin?
What if it is just a feeling?
A feeling that you unnecessarily associate with material things outside of you while it is trying hard to retain it's sanctum within you.
What if you always knew this and chose denial instead?
How do you feel now? safe or homeless?

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