Home Is Home
Home is Home
My parents swing the door open, and I’m met with an overwhelming aroma of smells, food and more food waiting for a wanting human to dig in.
I hear my dog rushing up to me and I am flung to the ground, her face licking mine rapidly.
My hands, clamping on to the brittle straps of my bag, release them satisfyingly, and flinging my bag to the ground, they feel the warmth of the crackling fire welcoming my arrival.
I am extremely ravenous, and I move to the table and devour the delicious food that sits before me. It’s taste is like a best friend’s hand patting me on the back. It warms my insides, and my mind is brought to the complex word of home.
I feel extremely grateful for the food, and am met with other feelings, satisfaction, happiness, and in some ways sadness at how overly lucky I am. All that matters right now is home.
A home’s relief is like a soft voice in your ear telling you it’s gonna be okay. I hear that voice currently, and it is an old friend helping me recuperate after the bitter taste of school. After the extravagant meal, my family scuttles off to crack open a board game. The game is blissful and it beneficially consists of teamwork. I watch silently studying my moves, as I contemplate the well known game pieces, well used over the years.
I feel a certain feeling that can barely be described by words. I regard whether home is a place, and I realize something monumentally important. Home isn’t a place. Home is a feeling; a peace of the mind, and I feel peaceful. Home is home and there is inexplicably nothing that can change that.