Houses and Homes

When I walk down my street, I gaze at all the houses, they mean nothing to me, but when I go past my house it’s a home. When I get to the front door it’s filled with memories, in the front entrance I feel happy to be home, when I go up the stairs I smell my parents cooking dinner, in the living room I see are puzzle that we still have not finished, in the dining room I remember all the dinner parties and New Year’s Eves, in the kitchen my cat meows and jumps on to the table to try and get a piece of dinner, when I walk down the hallway I feel happy to get to my room and see my sister, in my room I say hi to my sister who is crocheting on her bed, when I go into the bathroom I have privacy at last, in my parents room I look at the closet where they hide Christmas presents, downstairs where my mom works I see her computer still open from last night, when I see the tv I remember watching a movie with my cousins on Christmas Eve, in the garage I look at my van and think of all the camping trips we have took in it, in the back yard I run around feeling happy that I have so much space to play in. And that’s what makes my house a home.