Home is a Feeling

Home is such a fickle thing. Some assume it’s a place; others say it’s a feeling. Home could be a person, a place, or a thing. It could be all, or it could be none. Home could be a warm meal, your favorite made with all the love of the world. Home could also be a person who gives the best hugs. Home could be that thing from your childhood, where you were young enough to believe Neverland was a real place or your dog would be around forever.
Yet home is none of those things. Home is not what you make it; home is what is. It is the heart that beats inside of you. It is the blood that pulses through your veins. It is the lungs that give you air. Your soul seeks refuge inside your core. That is its home, you may not have one, but you are one. Home is you. Home is the feeling you get seeing a puppy on the side of the road. Home is the daughter cradled in her moms’ arms or the boy holding his sister’s hand. Home is a feeling, a feeling of things natural.
It is as real as the sun. It is as real as the smile on your little sister’s face after seeing her favorite Disney princess. Home is the tears that fall hot down your cheeks as your dad finally walks through the door after leaving for a week the day after you were born. Home is saying goodbye, goodbye to your favorite dog. Your Great Popop after he fought day and night to an incurable illness. Home is the day you watch all your dreams die off. Home is knowing that hope still lives in this world, right under your nose. Home is a feeling.
Home is you. It is all that you are and all you give. Life is full of happy homes; you pass by them every day. Not people, places, or things. But a feeling. You feel at home; you may not know it. Someday, you will. One day you will say, “I am home.” And someone will say, “welcome home.”