A Home Lives in your Heart

My home feels like a nice, warm hug when you walk in the door. It feels like a fuzzy, cozy, woolly carpet lying on the floor. I’m cold from the bitter outside but the fire will warm them up. Sometimes my grandparents come over to my wonderful home, they always call me Buttercup. My home looks like my family and I playing board games and laughing. It looks like my sister and I putting on a performance and my parents clapping. My home smells like a scrumptious homemade meal being made in a pan. It smells like the cozy Hot Chocolate my parents make for me after I make a Snowman. My home sounds like laughter and joy. I can be anything I want in my home, even a Cowboy! My home tastes like warm, fresh Banana Bread or the Medicine I have to take when I’m sick, lying in bed. So, a home isn’t just a box with a roof. It’s so much more than that. It’s trust, kindness and acceptance. A house may be an object, but a home is a whole different story. It’s something you can’t touch but it lives in your heart.