What Home Means To Me
What home means to me is somewhere I will never get sick of, but I will get sick of missing its warm feeling deep inside. My forever happy place. The most important thing I have. It’s not portable, so I always come back so I can feel the same type of comfortable again. Somewhere where I can sing as loud as I want as if I were the person who wrote it. Dance as if nobody is watching. Be as crazy as I wish. Laugh at funny stuff dad does. Reflect about my day to mom. Be a good sister to my younger siblings. Embrace my true feelings. But some people don’t have one. Those people are probably not feeling good, so sometimes you got to think about it. Be grateful for it. Live in the moment. Because while you’re just doing that, some people are still looking for a place where most have knocked to enter, some may have broken in, but only few have ever called it home. But let’s just hope that nobody ever breaks in.