Home

Home has never been a place for me. It has always been and continues to be a person. My house belongs to my parents, if I leave my welcome home will be conditional. I can't make any decisions on it, so I feel more like a guest. These days it might as well be a dorm room. The security and certainty I ought to feel here isn't quite there. My house is not my home. I've put my faith in people, despite the constant advisement against that. Yet, up to this point it's served me well. I've found people that have consistently made me feel like I'm in a safe house. Like the doors are always open, there's always a bed for me, the fridge is stocked, like no matter what I'm always welcomed.

I'll always be grateful to those people, even if one day my home changes. Today is a different story though, today I want to make my own home. At least my own version of it. I've been itching for a place that only I know inside and out. A place where I find things as I left them, and where silence is there when I most need it. A place I create from scratch. I'm still wondering how I'll get there...