That window is our communal room, and here on a hillock with pines you can collect ladybugs in a matchbox, here is the path on which two dogs knocked me over the shoulder blades, but here is the balcony of my grandparents, who were not relatives to us, but where did we run with tears that we lost another key or backpack, where you can dance a new routine you have learned and you will definitely be praised, or just eat sweets with no limits.
How far and so close at the same time.
Everyone has a place that feels like home. And if there is no such thing now, then at least let there be pictures in your head, in your memory. A place where it is cozy, safe, stable, and you are loved.
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