The Meaning of Home

Home can come in every shape, form, and size. Home isn’t a building, nor a foundation, house, or really anything confined in four single walls. Home is infinite, a snug, sincere hug to wash the gloomy feelings away, it’s a cup of warm tea on a frigid winter day, when the winds are howling. Home can be the time spent with people you love. A shoulder to sob into, without worrying that what you feel is too much or too little. Hiding under your blankets, with the dull light of an intimate lamp washing over the pages of a warm book. The spine of the brittle book cracking, pages yellowing and coming apart, yet you still cherish it. Home is nostalgia, routine, giddiness and unwrapping presents. Home is family, whatever shape it may take. It can be your bestest friends, a form of solace, the relief of having someone to rely on, to trust with the deepest of truths and confession. It’s with your family, biological or not. Family is who you choose to rely on, to support, even when things are dark. Family and home are connected interchangeably, together as one. Home is where your heart lies, with whoever, wherever.