Sometimes, I would stare blankly at the sky, thinking about nothing, really just looking at the sky. Then he lowered his head, rubbed his sore neck from looking up for a long time, and returned from the balcony on the top floor to the house where he lived with that person.
Until now, I still stubbornly call that place a "house", but I don't want to or dare to call that place a "home". I'm afraid that one day I will never be able to find the key to my home and won't be able to get in. Even though that person kept telling me, "Wherever you go, I'll be there. You can't lose mine." But I was still afraid. No one could understand my inexplicable uneasiness. Perhaps, the easier it is, the less sure it is.