Home.

Home.

It's not where you eat,
Where you dress,
Where you sleep,
Where you wake,
Where you live.

Home.

Home.

It's where you belong.

So whether you're there now,
On the way,
Or your journey hasn't begun...
Your house now is nice,
But you'd give anything to get out.

Home.

It's where you belong.
And it's calling.
Waiting as patiently
as
you
are.

And they all laugh at her dreams. She laughs along, too, acting like each giggle and 'never' doesn't feel like someone stabbing her repeatedly. But just one more "You'll never make it." One simple "He'll never love you." is enough for her to pop.

Suddenly,
she lets go of everything she held on for.