A House to a Home

My home was just a house, before we had memories and joy of life there. It was just a house made out of wood and nails, with no purpose. Then we moved in, and made it our home, we lived life happily, ate, played outside, watched TV and had somewhere to sleep. Only then, was our house a home. When it had a purpose, to us. We get to decorate it for holidays, and even just to make it look better. But as long as we live there, be ourselves and just be able to be happy with our family and the comfort of our home, will it really be a home to us. A home we can love, cherish, and enjoy, forever. I love my home, because it is somewhere I can feel safe, and happy. That is what my home means to me.