What Home Means to Me

Home, a place we call home. Where moments happen, it doesn’t need four walls or a door, all it needs is a door to your heart. Home is not house. It would almost be insulting to call home a house. Home is where we spend most of our time with family or friends. A house can be an unsteady structure that falls into rubble when you cry. Home is different, if you cry it will stay solid and strong. It will welcome you no matter who you are, what you are, or what state you’re in. At home I hear the sound of the oven fan. At home I hear my dogs barking outside, whining and scratching to get in. At home I feel safety and warmth. At home I smell steam from the kitchen oven. At home I smell the wet dogs outside. Home is where we meet and have life-lasting memories that express emotions and feelings. Without those moments at home, you wouldn’t have the feeling of home. Without any of those moments, you wouldn’t have home. The feeling of one day finding home would stay and linger. You would only have house not home. Lets say there was a rich man, big car fancy clothes large house. But he gets the feeling of anhedonia, feeling all empty inside and the sense of languishing. He realized four walls around him were what he thought was home, then he remembered his past, his mother by the fire or his father coming home from work. He went to see his family and all of his sadness went down the drain. Home can be anything from a box to a truck to a house home is not a place it's a feeling.