A home is where you rest your feet and someone smiles at you after a long day, the sound that fills each breathe you take fills your heart at once and tells you that tomorrow will be just as beautiful when you wake in a space that is completely your own, each item a depiction of your heart. You feel you belong as the sun dawns through your window that opens to birdsong and a view you feel as though you have known your whole life, especially when even the darkest of days cannot tarnish it. The slippers aren’t needed, your fingers allow a needle to slide through material on your latest project or a book fills each of your senses with its ageing pages as your imagination fills because your physicality no longer holds you intact in its silence.
A house is where the sound of your key in the lock fills you with just as much tiredness as the day you just had, you know that you’re going to have to clean up the things you never used because someone else didn’t and that except for the things that adorn them to cover, those walls are not your own. The faces you see you do not feel you have known before, each acquaintances words a dull confirmation of something you vaguely remember uttering to them before retreating to the sanctuary you have created yourself beyond the cynicism of the grey kitchen sides and the sterile blankness of the bathroom.
A home cannot be made, it’s something to be found. Underneath the dusty cobwebs or behind a staircase, down some basement stairs or looking out of the window you will own. When you breathe and can see that your heart is filled by each inch of the place, when you notice each corner and are not in consideration of confinement, that’s when you are home.
But home is confined not to walls. Home can be those words that say I miss you or I love you, home can be a walk on a sunny day or being caught in the rain.
Home is a moment in time at which your heart has the desire to be nowhere but the now in which it were or is. Home is when our sight and mind and heart and emotions are tied to a beautiful memory because physically all it takes is a moment in time to be home where you stand or sit or still. It is a second or a lifetime but never cause for our momentum to lag or for our feet to stop moving forward because we will know home many times, we may be hung up on one previous when we are lost without it but it will find us in a moment in which we find it. Or them.