Home is a concept that no deed can define.
It is a construct only of our enlightened mind.
Home is not a house made of brick, mortar, or steel.
It is a place in our hearts where growth pays the bill.
Home is a community that withstands the drub storm.
It is a resilient group of people that stand out from the norm.
Home is seldom a chapel filled with family or friend.
It is a place of familiarity free of chagrin.
Home is a lighthouse that guides us through the night.
It leads us into a lover's arms and whispers that all will be right.
Home is where we go when our light starts to dim.
It travels through the universe on a spiritual whim.
Home is wherever we decide that our passions will be.
Its construction is pliant and the residents live free.
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Final Call
She flings her arms around my neck and squeezes me like she’s never going to let me go. My head spins as her lips brush against my cheek. She must be able to feel my heart thumping in my chest. I shuffle backwards and ram my hands into my coat pockets, watching her reach down and heave the rucksack across her shoulders.
By Caroline Craven6 days ago in Fiction
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