In the hope of Home, you might fling yourself unto the air, onto the road, into the water, and find Nothing. You would want to fling yourself. All over again. Only to be Homeless then, and again and again. Home will elude you, vanishing through people, places, promises, made-unmade. You will be relentless, raged, revulsed, but you will keep looking and losing.
Until Home builds itself within, a shapeless, formless strength, to face yourself and the world. A spirit of gliding stillness to face your worst fears, real-imagined. Until Home is You and you won't have to escape again.