What home means to me is familiarity.

As I open the door to sounds of playing and laughter all sorrows float away. With my feet creaking on the old floor boards ever so quietly as I make my way to my room. The familiar smells, sounds, and soul all follow me as I walk around. When I close my bedroom door to take in all that is surrounding, I feel calm and at home. I fall into the warm embrace of my bed, all worries leave my head, with sheets so soft but cold a true story could be told. With stories about memories I've had, to all the dreams. I've had so many stories. It would make you mad. Laying underneath my bed with all of me, is a little container with a lot of beads. There’s red, blue, pink, and yellow so much you know it would make you bellow. From all the stories these beads could tell, none of which you could sell.