Home isn’t the place you were born or the place you simply survive in-trying to get by day-to-day by buying milk or bread from the grocery list you write at your kitchen table, putting your keys in a bowl, taking naps, eating frozen TV dinners in the living room- that’s a place where you stay and survive but not where you really live.
Home is the place or person that you can come back to again and again, a refuge that protects you in the same way your bones protect your organs. It builds itself around you, not always in a material sense like with wood or brick, but in an immaterial sense, like with affection, belonging, love, comfort.
It’s the place or person where you not only survive, but live. A place or person that holds you but does not judge.