The Home I Love

Home isn’t somewhere to live, it isn’t somewhere to sleep, it’s something special, it’s a place of warmth, it’s where love originates from. I see glowing red hot stoves cooking a homemade blueberry crumble. The smell sweeps me off of my feet and into a world of extraordinary smells. I leave the kitchen as reality comes rushing back to me. I look up and above me at the dim lights that shake with every step I take. I concentrate on all the murmurs that my parents make. I make out comforting words as I leave the kitchen. I tiptoe down my stairs as my feet rub against the soft carpet. I hear the quiet trickle of water flowing as I see my 50 gallon fish tank with shiny fish swimming in joy. I emerge in a room full of instruments. I pick up a small, airy and light wooden violin and a bow that was carefully handcrafted by a craftsman. The bow glides along the strings as a dramatic and exciting song pops into my mind. My brother watches in astonishment as I play it with ease. Once I finish the song, I place my violin back into its case and I buckle it up. I head upstairs, to my study room. I look upon all the medals of distinction and honour that were hard gained by me. I decide that I will work harder than ever to gain another medal. I sit down and I pick up a pencil. I feel the roughness of the paper as my pencil flies over it. I hear the urgent meow of my cats that signals me that the tasty homemade blueberry crumble is ready. The soothing taste overflows my senses and I go to bed. Home is where I truly feel alive.