Home is the Place

Home is the place Where my name was first spoken. Where stories grew like roots Beneath the floorboards, Holding me steady Even when I wander far. Home is something that Can’t be destroyed. Memories will last a lifetime Throughout the flash of time together. Home, the first place I have seen with my eyes. Every wall, every corner, Every piece of furniture Leaves a story behind. Home is the laugh That chased me Through the sunlit backyard, Always running with me. Home is the swing That creaked beneath me, Swaying high enough To touch the clouds in my dreams. Home is imperfect and unfinished, Sometimes too loud, sometimes too quiet. But it opens its doors anyway, No matter how late you arrive. Home is not an address, But a collection of small favours. A light left on for someone, A question asked twice, And silence that doesn’t demand answers.