You can't spell” Home” without” ME”

My house probably looks just like yours. It has a roof, some walls, some windows, and a door. Holding lots of furnishings tucked inside, a house is the place where we reside. But what is a home? A home, you see, has love in and out, all and about. My love fills up all throughout. In the nooks and the crannies, to grandpa and granny, and all other nice things that don't feel uncanny. A home and a house are not the same thing, one is cherished, and one is just a building. The love you bring can be filled forever, and when does it stop? It won't stop, ever. No matter where I move, no matter where I am, Home always stays with me, like Mary’s little lamb. Home is not a building; home is a heart. Home is filled with love and art. Home is not a place, more like a feeling. Like the movie of your heart, the reels keep reeling. For many years, a home is a home, no matter where you are, from Paris to Rome. You could say it's Home Aroma. You could say it's art. You could say it's the way that you feel in your heart. No matter where I go, home goes with me. Home is not a building; Home is to be. As the days go on, and no matter where you are, A home always welcomes you, near and far. Has it been many years? Has it been just a minute? Since home has welcomed you, you can stay with it. When I think of a home, I think of my own, and that is what makes it unique. And when I am home, it feels like my own, so I shall keep it pristine