My Home's Blue Railing

Everyone thought that my house was just a house. It had cream colored walls, a small front porch and a blue railing that squeaked whenever you leaned on it too hard. Kids in my neighbourhood liked the bigger houses with shiny doors and tall gates. Mine didn't have any of that. But my house had the blue railing. Every afternoon, when school ended I'd race home and grab the railing with both hands, pretending it was the edge of a ship. The porch became a deck ,the wind became the ocean, and I was a captain returning from a long journey no matter how rough my day was, bad math tests, lost pencil, argument with a friend . The blue railing was there. Inside, the floors creaked in the same spots every time. The kitchen smelled different depending on the day: cinnamon, rice, or something frying. My backpack always landed in the same corner, like it knew where it belonged. One night there was a big storm. The lights flickered, the wind howled, and the rain hit the windows hard. I felt scared, but the house stayed still. The walls didn't shake, the blue railing didn't break. My family sat together and suddenly the storm didn't feel so big anymore and I could see the blue railing from the window. That's when I understood something. Home is like the blue railing. It isn't just where you sleep and eat . It's where you can imagine adventures, where you can fail and still feel safe, and where even during the storms something holds you steady like the blue railing that never lets go.