Home

I long to know what ‘home‘ means. I’ve never stood in our garden, looked over the grass and thought ‘I am home’. For some reason, I’ve always felt like I don’t belong here. I belong out into the world. ‘Home‘ isn’t something that had been given to me at birth. I have to find it. There is a place for me, yet to be discovered. I cannot settle down before I haven’t found it.
Maybe that will take my whole lifetime. Maybe it’ll take roughly a year. And maybe¬†‘home‘ isn’t so much a place, but a person, or a certain smell that makes you smile, or a book that takes you back to good old times, or just the sound of a voice that you have utterly fallen in love with. Maybe I will find my home in the chocolate eyes of a man I met in the coffee shop around the corner.

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