Home. The place with a roof over your head. Or maybe not. Unfortunately, some people live on the streets and their home is everywhere. Maybe you live in the hospital. A home is not a person or an object. It is a place to love. To be safe. At my home I live with my mom, my dad, my brother and my dog Coco. In my home I hear the sound of the grand piano and my brother playing glorious music while I make the violin sing songs of joy. I hear the big drums that are so loud the sound BANGS agents the walls. I smell so much delicious food when my mom starts to cook. I smell a fresh clean house when I come home from dance. I love my sweet, sweet bed. In my spare time I read there. I feel safe and loved in my home. Remember. Home is not just a place. Its love.