What are the earliest memories of the place you lived in as a child? Describe your house.
My house. Three stories, wrapped in blue-grey paint and filled with a small, very close family.
The kitchen was small. The dining room hardly used. The bedroom shared by three girls and a bunkbed. An enclosed porch filled with flowers and giant windows, bathed in warm sunlight. My father’s collection of airplanes I would gaze at in awe. My parent’s big bed we would all climb on to watch television. The attic where we spent out afternoons, sitting on the floor, playing dolls or board games. Laughter.
The wide porch where we sat together on the swing. The driveway for bike riding and rollerblading and shooting hoops. The backyard where we watched fireflies like shooting stars on warm summer nights, dancing behind them to trap them in jars.
I loved my home. I grew up in it. It was the place I came back to every night. Most of my childhood was spent there, waking up to the smell of something cooking and listening to my father snoring in the next room.
I still live in that house where I grew up. But I have outgrown it. The people are the same but now they are a bit distant from me. I have too much stuff, too many dreams to cram in this small bedroom.
Now my home is you. Your arms are my walls and your chest is my resting place. In your words, I find joy. In your eyes, I find love. In your mind, I am home.
You are where I belong. It is your soul, where I find the peace, comfort and safety of home. I will stay with you forever.