My Home is a Memory

We live in a home, my mom, dad, brother, and me live in a house but our feelings and connection make a home. When I think of a house it is nothing but property but when I think of a home, it is something money cannot buy. The pictures on the walls are stories we’ve been to, something we’ve seen too and those pictures are things we remember from our lives, my home is love, and peace granted. I hear the rain dripping on the wall, it is the beauty of nature, however nothing is as beautiful as my home as it is a big warm hug. I smell the tomato and egg sizzling on the pan as my mom cooks it effortlessly. A house sometimes has to be beautiful, but a home can be anything it wants to. No matter what happens in any home or mine, the home will always shine in the dark and in the light.