They say that home is not a place, it’s a person. But what they fail to realize is that home isn’t human, nor is it tangible. Rather, it is a part of us. It is every place and every person and every thing that we’ve touched and that has touched us. Buildings crumble and people leave but we can always return to our memories. Home is my mother’s voice.
The theme song of my favorite childhood TV show. It is the sound my camera makes when I wind the film. The feeling of my guitar strings against my fingertips. The smell of coffee. The first rain of every summer. You know how everyone says that home is where the heart is? Well, they’ve got it backwards. My heart is where my home is.
The theme song of my favorite childhood TV show. It is the sound my camera makes when I wind the film. The feeling of my guitar strings against my fingertips. The smell of coffee. The first rain of every summer. You know how everyone says that home is where the heart is? Well, they’ve got it backwards. My heart is where my home is.
