My Home

Home is not the bricks, it's not the peeling paint on the wall, Home is the creek in the door . It's the echo of laughter through the walls. It's the old memories that drift through empty halls, Home is where memories are. Home is playing catch with my dad, it’s baking cookies with my mom, laughing like we never had. It’s dancing with my sister in the kitchen with music half out of tune. Home is where I feel safe and happy.