A True Home

My house is not my home. My house has marks and memories, but my home has the things that made those memories. My home has couches and beds for comfort, but my home is where comfort thrives. My house can keep me warm and cool, but my home keeps me alive. My home is where my family is. My family will always be there for me. If I got burned, they'd be there, if I was bleeding, they'd be there, if I needed help, they'd be there. My family will be there even if they’re gone, in my heart, in my mind, in my soul, in front of me. My home is filled with things I love, my friends, my family, Math, games. My home is an adventure, going to new places, travelling with my friends and family, a little scare here and there. My home is the foods I love, pizza, pasta, ice-cream. I love the way the cheese pulls from the bread. I love the way the saucy pasta melts into my mouth. The way the creamy, cold, ice-cream drips into my mouth feels like I fell on a soft, pillowy cloud. My home is personal. Some things I can say to my brother or sister, are things I can only talk to them about. Things I can talk to my friends about, are things I can only tell them. My home is everything, without it, I don't live.