The Meaning of Home

I walked inside my cozy house. Out of the cold, frosty weather. I feel safe and loved in this building. After all, I’ve lived here all my life. I skip over to the living room where my family is waiting. We do puzzles and play games all afternoon. I spot the picture frames hanging near the window. All of them are full of memories I’ll never forget. My favourite is the one of my brother, my mom, and my dad, and I standing on top of a mountain that we climbed together. It’s amazing how this little house can fit so many big moments of my life. It is time for dinner. My family and I enjoy a nutritious meal together. We talk and laugh together and feel joy as we share jokes that don’t even make sense. It’s one of my favourite times of the day. After dinner, dad asks me if I’d be interested in moving. I say no. But why? Well, I guess it has something to do with this being my home. All my friends live nearby and I’d miss them so much. I simply couldn’t live without them. I feel comfortable here. I feel like I belong here. I’ve grown up here, and I just couldn’t say goodbye. I glance outside where I see my neighbours playing in the snow. They’re around my age so I decide to go have some fun. We play for hours. When I come back inside, I feel the warmth of the roaring fire hit my face. I’m glad to be home.