Home Sweet Home

Feel. I feel my warm, cozy, soft, big comfy bed. I feel the cool, hard wooden, light brown floor. I feel the gray, cozy velvet couch. I feel home. Hear. I hear the buttery, white, jumping popcorn popping in the microwave. I hear the long, loud, sometimes boring pep talk from my Mom. I hear my loud, annoying brother screaming. I hear home. Smell. I smell the crumbly brown burnt homemade chicken fingers. I smell the cheesy, saucy, cold bought pizza. I smell the cinnamon apple cookies that my mom bakes. I smell home. See. I see the big, brown, wooden dining room table where I talk with my grandparents. I see my small white desk where I do my homework. I see my big, full, white closet where I pick my clothes everyday. I see home. Taste. I taste the hard, green, and brown garlic knots. I taste the sweet cold orange juice that I drink each morning. I taste the red and hot salami that my dad barbecues every summer. I taste home.