A Beautiful Thing Called Home
I slip on my beat up red basketball high tops grab my shiny door knob and step into my cool garage. I press the garage door opening button as hard as I can (it’s a old garage door so you have to push hard) and watch as it slowly opens and makes a babang. I grab my basketball and step outside. It’s a hot day with a beautiful sun above my head *sigh* “this is awesome” I say to myself as I take a shot swish nothing but net.
Once I started thinking about what home means to me memories started to fly through my head. Home is the best place to be. Toys, friends, family, love, hate, smiles and frowns. Sometimes friend’s houses are cooler than yours. Their house is bigger or their toys are better but it’s just not home.
Even if a friend’s house is “better” than yours actually sleeping over there can be a challenge. I did say can because some people can sleep at others peoples house’s no problem but with me it’s different. I can never go to a sleepover and actually sleep. If sleepovers at my house it’s fine but at a friend’s house no way. There just something about home that is much more comforting.
What makes home comforting well two of things. Super comfy furniture and a safe feeling. I adore everything about my home and I can’t describe how much my home means to me. weather I’m inside or outside, hungry or full, entertained or bored my home is the best place to be.
Those are the reasons I love my home. It’s crazy comfortable and full of love. I can’t imagen being homeless, it’s such a sad thought. I told you what my homes means to me but what does your home mean to you?