Home where I go
My home isn’t a home until I move in. I remember the happiness, the excitement as I checked my room. Six years later I still feel that in my home today but its more wide all over I feel it. Maybe its just memories.
Today I could go home and express how I feel mad, sad or happy. I can always hear my mother’s laugh, dog barking and the T.V playing or her phone. This is home to me, home is where home cooked meals are made or I make my own home cooked meal.
My home wouldn’t be a home if I didn’t have my dog stealing my food or Kleenex or me and my mom joking around. This is what’s home to me. Home is a wonderful place where I feel accepted loved and comfortable.