Why is home home

A home is where we live, Where we laugh with stories to give. An home is made of good intentions and even when there, all by itself, An home is never to be without. homes however, is a little smaller, But it is where little dreams come big. It's the sun that shines through it, It's the ramen that smells like stew in the hallway, It's the little things that wander each floor, And the processing in our brains, I ask. homes are where we do what we can, Where limits do not yet render. As extensions of family or best friends, An home has everything we need, always, right there. A home is where the shadows sing. A home is the warmth of the fire and the ease of the fling. A home is where laughter reigns and joy and the demise. A home is a place of anxiety, but better here is the surprise where the first-aid kit is properly stocked to fix cuts, where the maimed learn better in time to adjust their guts. The door cracks its frame to welcome you inside, a place of stillness and comfort to abide, to allow the energies of the outside to come rushing on through, but with something better from within, because that's how we do. A home is not furniture or square footage or flair or laminates that glisten or paint that has a stare. A home is where you are and where you need to be, where there is nurturing and laughter that's free. So appreciate your home wherever it may be, in every ridiculous laugh, in every quirk among the insanity. For a home makes it something unique and one of a kind; for a heart and a home are what forever will bind.