My Home

My home is not a house or building, but something that has to be built by my family and I. It can only be disrupted by others, not torn down. Only my family can tear it down, and even then, it is still a hard thing to do. Home is where I smell my mom cooking and hear my brother and dad tinkering or fiddling with something. Home is where I feel safe and free, able to do whatever I want to do with my stuff. Home is where I belong. Home is where we live.