What Home Means to Me

The sound of my dog’s barks, the sight of my bedroom as I roam. These are the things that remind me of home. My dad’s in the basement, on his computer at work. I step inside my house, where scrumptious smells lurk. My mom’s black bean brownies, fluffy and warm. As I stare at the dessert, saliva starts to form. I know how lucky I am to live in this space. I feel sorry for those who don’t have a place.