My home
I’ve never known a home besides my current one, I walk inside and see the same arches and stairs that I’ve known my whole life. I still bang my head on an arch in my room 18 years later. No matter what I seem to do I will never not bang my head against that arch. The cologne and perfume collide and create absolute havoc. The smell of fajitas clouds the air on a Thursday night. I look at the same ceiling every night while falling asleep. A house is made a home by everyday activities whether that be playing board games with family or having an argument over the car with my brother. No matter what happens the house on Washington street will always be my home. Even when it is destroyed and when the last bit of rubble is swept from it, my home will always be here.
