Home

Home - outside of home time matters, the clock ticks slowly and loudly but inside of home, the clock still exists but slowly fades into the background so you don't notice. When I walk in, my shoulders relax and I stay calm. The smell of banana bread fills the air, not for anyone in particular but just because someone had time to make it. When I finally come home, sunlight fills the place through the window so bright you can see small specks of dust but no one really pays attention to that. I look at the table and there is always something waiting for me, either crafts or fresh cookies on the table waiting to be eaten. Sure, bad things still happen but I don't brace myself or rehearse what I will say in the mirror; it just happens when the time comes. Home isn't a place that I fear; it's a place that knows my name.