The Meaning of Home

Warm as a stove and cozy as a bird's nest a place to lay my head. This stunning location, my bed. It has seen me sad and happy. Pillows to cry onto, sheets to wipe tears. Melting softens the world left at the door. Bright sun peeking thru the windows, trying to get up and start the day. Every morning, we must start the day anew. However, my bed knows when nighttime falls, my brain switches off. My head, only owner of my of my thoughts, rests upon the pillows that has only felt a warm spot at a time. There is little that my eyes can see, as I stare into nothingness, only darkness. Scattered light that penetrates from tiny holes of windows curtains fades, within the blackness.