My Journey to Find Home

My big, solid, red, brick house was the foundation of my life for the last 11 years. I knew the trees in my neighborhood so well that I could almost hear them speaking to me on my way home from school. The big, black wood table that sat in my dining room was the place for games and fun that made my spirit soar with joy. Then my parents told me something that made my heart come to a full stop. I was going to move. We began to pack all my beloved belongings away, I felt incomplete without them all. The school year came to an end as did the time with my friends. Early summer was filled with heartfelt goodbyes. Before I knew it my eyes were slowly opening and I was looking around my empty room about to leave it. The place I’d cried, hoped, dreamed, loved and been loved. I thought about it all and somewhere deep down inside me I knew home isn't an actual place, it's a feeling of love and joy. When I arrived in my new town I had my first glimpse of my new house. It was white and had black shingles with moss poking out them. When I entered I saw all the stuff I'd packed up in boxes. I was as happy as all the colors on a paint palette coming together to make a painting, to see it all again. When school started I wished for all my wonderful friends. But as time went on I began to make new friends. And the snow covered trees in my neighborhood smile at me in the winter. But most importantly my house isn't just a house anymore it’s my home. Everyone should have a home just as loving as mine.