Meaning of Home

Home is not a door or key, not walls that hold a memory. It hums with the breath we keep, the quiet places where we sleep. It lives in freedom and happiness. Sometimes feeling may be trapped tightly in a room. But when it comes to home, all trap doors burst open with feelings spilling out. Living in laughter or tears, in trust we build across the years. A feeling more than boulders or rock, a warmth we’ve always somehow known. It’s the scent of bread at sunrise, the coat you’ve outgrown but still put on. Tiny comforts that time can’t take away, soft rituals that choose to stay. It’s every “welcome back” and “stay, the gentle echo at the end of the day. The faces we return to, sleepy and true, the love we give, the love we grew. Home is a place we do not see, not marked or drawn purposely You bring it wherever you go And in its knowing, you are home.