Not So Far Away

A song about a fractured sibling-like relationship told through vivid contrast: one figure always on the edge starting fires, the other walking a wire and playing by the book. The narrator remembers a fearless look in the other's eye and admits wanting some of that fire for themselves. Distance — two thousand miles and years of divergent choices — hasn't erased the pull; the other still shows up in dreams. The chorus turns longing into a quiet prayer for reconciliation, hoping that when they're older they can love and laugh together. A late verse names the real obstacle plainly: they were young and broken and didn't know how to love, but now hearts are opening and healing has begun. The repeated title line works as both question and reassurance, refusing to let geography or history have the final word. It's a warm, plainspoken song about family, memory, and the stubborn hope that estrangement isn't permanent.