zuhause - Luca Version

It's as if someone is gluing feathers together piece by piece: first one, then another, and falling doesn't hurt so much anymore. Doubts turn into soft stops: not a victory over oneself, but a careful repair of one's wings. Home is not an address, but the very hand that catches you when you fall, and in this simplicity lies an almost childlike truth that is more comforting than long explanations.

There is also a warm irony in this: adulthood knows how to count losses and gains, but here it all boils down to simple “glue.” You can lose, and it's okay; you can fall, and you won't be left alone on the ground. The words sound like a reminder that home sometimes lives in the little things: in forgiving mistakes, in the willingness to fall together, and in that very “Du, du...” that turns a stranger's hand into a safe haven.