Nowhere Like Home

I have moved houses twice since the beginning of my years, and each time I move there is a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. A small ache that I get once I take my last lap around the backyard, when I take my final swing on the swing set my father and I set up, or the once simple act of laying on the empty floor. My mind is flooded with memories of my family and the time we all spent together when I perform any of these simple last times in my soon to be old house. I've grown to believe that it's not the house I am feeling saddened by but rather the memory that lies in the thick walls, the thought of it being final, a goodbye. I always thought a ‘home’ was just a few walls and a roof to cover it all, but now I rethink. A home is not what surrounds us but rather what holds the thick walls and roof together. My loving family, mother, fa