My home isn't a location or even a person as many would say. My home is a feeling. I find home in warm smiles, familiar and unfamiliar alike. I find home in my dad's hugs and my mom's kisses.
For me home can be anywhere, maybe that's why I manage to make space myself wherever I go.
I find my home hidden in the untouched corners of old buildings, in the scent of chocolate and lavender. I find home in utter chaos just as I find it in deafening silence.
Sometimes, I find home in my loneliness too. In the moments when I can't even muster a smile, I'm still at home.
It doesn't need to be comfortable for me to make it home, nor does it need to be full of laughter and warmth. Yes, it does feel nicer when it is but it's still home even when it's not. But it does need to be beautiful and doesn't beauty lie in eyes of the beholder.
I find home in the twinkling of stars and dark spots of the moon. I find home in the fine lines of poetry and all my daydreams, I know some will never come true.
I find my home in the twittering of birds and the smell of old books. I find it in sunrise and sunset alike.
If you'd let me I'd find home in your eyes, in your storms, in the crook of your elbow and all the lines of your smile. I find home in beautiful things. Seems like I'll manage to find home anywhere and everywhere.
And maybe that's enough for my forever.