Home is a feeling, not a place

Home is a feeling, not a place. Home can be with anyone, no matter the case. Home will go wherever you follow, it can be a food, just like avocados. It can be a colour like purple or gray, or can be the looks of a new moon phase. It can be you resting in your bed, or just the thoughts inside your head. It might be the smell of a forest after rain, or can be the feeling of the grass in the plains. It can be a memory of a lost one you loved, or the warmth from the sky up above. It can be an animal that represents you, or the taste of an early morning cold brew. It can smell like roses and cherries, or the taste of yuzu blackberries. Maybe it’s the sound of a duck squawking, a child laughing, or the birds flying. It could be the way you tie your laces, not one face but many different faces. It can even be the way you always make a mess, how you’re bad at chess or the way you dress. Whatever home is there’s one thing I know. Whenever I feel it, my heart feels like it grows.