The Little Things

Walking outside, I see houses, but some of them aren’t homes. Home is a place where I can go if I’ve had a dreadful or wonderful day. Home is my safe place, where nothing’s a race. Happy or sad I have support. At home laughter and joy fills the air, I can be myself and no one stares. When I think of home, I think of family, I think of love. Family big or small, blood or not. It doesn’t matter, family is family and love is love. It doesn’t matter what house or apartment you have, to make it a home. It truly matters how you feel inside a house, to make it a home. When I walk into my house, I hear laughter, I smell candles, I taste food and water, I see family, I feel safe and I think to myself “I am home.” Some people think there isn’t a difference between a house and a home. A house is a building with a roof and four walls. A home is more than just a building with a roof and four walls. It has a deeper meaning. Home is a house full of love and safety. Home has laughter, acceptance, strength and so much more. Even the little things make my house a home. Like, the smell of vanilla soap after I wash my hands, the sound of birds chirping when I wake up, the touch of my blanket after a long day. and so many other little things make my house a home. Some people don’t have a home, it’s sad to say, but I am lucky enough to have a home today.