My Home

What my home means to me is a mere one word. Imperfect. It is very important to me. My own space, that I can change to my liking. Perfume and candle scents flowing through the place. Everyone has their own tastes. Right and wrong don't exist here. Flowers blooming with the sunshine. Everything has its place here. Cats being vessels of chaos. Tucked in, ready for a good, long nap. See how words are funny? You can look at imperfect, and say it means not perfect, off, weird, funny-looking or even bad. But I can look at those 9 letters and say "Yep, that's my place. The little yellow one, with the red door."