The meaning of HOME
When i was sitting on a bench an old man ( I think in his 80’s )with ripped clothes, holes in his jeans and his tuque unraveled, came up to me and asked: what’s the meaning of home?
I replied in confusion, no one ever asked me that question ‘’well, I think it’s when you walk in your house you feel like you just step into loving caring arms of your family that hugs forever?’’
‘’Good description’’ the man said, ‘’I once had a home when I was little until the flames came’’
‘’What are the flames? you ok sir?
A long time ago… where the sun was bright and the ocean sparkled. I had a bright blue house along the pathway with pussy willows hanging down covering a oak wood bench lined with gold and a rusty gold statues standing straight beside it.I remember walking down the dirt pathway to visit the man everyday by the bench, so i could to pick some blackberries for mothers fabulous blackberry pie she would make it was heaven melting in my mouth every bit.I think i spent several hours that day picking berries hanging out with the golden man or in this case Mr. gold i used to call him he was my best friend someone that made me feel comfortable in every word I told him my deepest secrets something I swear not to tell anyone.
‘’Sorry to interrupt but…what’s this have to do with the flames?
‘’Sorry I get carried away easily anyway when I was gone there was a fire at my house. The fire men didn’t come in time the fire burnt my house into ashes and found my parents dead.
Just then i realized how much home meant to me.