I am very fortunate--I have many homes. There are places where I am home because I have been there enough times or for a long enough time, that it is one of my homes. There are places that are home only because they are shared with someone so close to me that no matter where we are, it is a resting place for my soul. I guess on those occasions, it really is the person I am with that is my home. I have homes where my families live and where my friends abide--where I've stopped for rest on a long car ride. Fact is, there are countless places in this country where I feel right at home.
After a length of time away, it is always good to come home, even though I must almost always leave another home to do so.
But there is one place--the place with the address on my mortgage, the place with my bed, the place with my scent and walls of red, which is my home home. And today I have come back to find that I was smart enough to leave beer in the fridge when I left over two months ago. Good boy.
Posts
