home.

Home is where the heart is. Cliche. Home is where the heartache is. Home is where tears fall. Home is where the pain can reside. But…Home heals. Home is where all fronts are lowered. Home is where vulnerability surfaces. Home is not pretending, not faking it. Home is real. Home is honest. Home is filled with ‘I love you’s.’ Home holds no grudges and keeps no secrets. Home is comfort. Home is confusion and then divine clarity. Home is your haven. Home is your 16th birthday. Home is your first pet. Home is your first child…or your last. Home is Sunday mornings. Home is all day pajamas. Home is childhood memories. Home is sliding down the banister stairs and dancing on the hardwood floors. Home is a bottomless jar of crunchy peanut butter. Home is where the family is; whoever they are, whether you are adopted, blood-related, or you live with friends; they are your home and you are theirs. Home is what you long for. Home is what you seek. Home is what tugs on you when you find yourself alone in the quiet of your day. Home is what you reminisce on when you are 65 as you think back to when you were 12. Home is the person that comes to mind when you read this and without them your life would be incomplete. Home is the person you go back to after a long day away. Home is in the kiss when you finally see them. Home always welcomes you. Home always forgives. Home saves you; whether it be from someone else or the person you saw in the mirror this morning. Home stands on four walls, the four walls that protect the dreamer…this dreamer.