Filled with people you love but it is more than that. It is filed with memories. My home is my mother, father, my brother, and my sisters. My warmth, my comfort, my life is all from them. When come home, I smell my mom’s sweet cookies still warm from the oven. after a long day at school I run upstairs touch the cookies but they are still too hot so I go to watch tv. I see my brother watching tv (obviously). But I am glad to see him and love him so much. When I am far away from home I miss it a lot. I feel like I’m still there but not really. If I did not have a home then I would not be writing this at all. Home is everything to me. That is the meaning of home to me.