What Home Means To Me

Home isn't a physical place, more so a safe place that you can feel at peace in. To me, home is the smell of a fettuccine dinner, boiling in a pot downstairs on the old silver stove. Home is the smell of the fresh snow outside that I'm playing in with my extremely fluffy dog, Odin. Home is the sight of my striped cat Millie and my dog waiting for me in the window when I arrive home from school. Home is the sight of my brother Stryker, sitting on the couch watching Paw Patrol. Home is the taste of my mom’s delicious spaghetti at the table, slathered in tomato sauce. Home is the taste of freshly baked haystack cookies, warm and soft. Home is the feeling of heat when I enter the living room, warming me up after biking home from school. Home is the feeling of a silky blanket wrapped around me tightly on the couch, watching family movies on the TV. Home is the sound of my dad getting home from an exhaustingly long day of work saying hi to everyone in the living room. It's also the sound of Stryker screaming and giggling while my brother Zep plays with him. But home is more than all of this, its love, joy, and balance. No home is perfect, but nothing is perfect, as long as you’re safe, accepted, and you’re happy, that's all that matters.