Home Is Home

Home, to me, is home. I feel like that statement is one of the most meaningful things I’ve ever said. A home is a place where I could confidently call it home. It is a place of significance, as well as somewhere I can rest safely. The word home is meaningful to me because it’s not a single place where there are warmth and family, although that’s where usually homes are, it’s in your heart, like bees in a hive or as wood in a fireplace or even squirrels in trees. As you only have one heart, I consider wherever I manage to end up, if I’m hopeful enough, like home. Home can be many things, like children playing in the sitting room or a sister reading a book, but nothing else can be home. Home is always going to be with me in my heart. The home in my heart follows me everywhere I go and wherever I end up. But I do have a physical home, and even though I can't carry it around with me, it's there and waiting for me to come back to it. It's the place where all my memories will begin, where the thing that I will miss most stays. Even though I can't bring that home with me, it's forever in my memories, always there, always waiting. Even though I can’t bring my physical home with me, the memory of it, always being there, is enough to strengthen my ties with both homes. Sometimes good, and sometimes bad. And to be honest, I think that's as good as it's going to get for me. Because home, to me, is home.