Mondays are just young Fridays

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A house is not a home.
   It is not about the furnishings, or
accessories. It’s not the photographs
or artwork displayed on the walls.
Yes, they are reminders of were you
have been, or how your tastes ran, but
possessions are not what it is about.
   They are not what you are about.
   As comfortable as the bed may be,
it is not where you sleep each night,
and it’s not about what you dream;
but it is a place you can dream.
   You live in various places at
different stages of your life. The
houses, apartments, condos change,
as do neighbourhoods and cities.
The people you live with will change
as well, as will you.
   But the bricks and mortar do not
make a home. It is much stronger
than that. Home is a feeling, it is
where you become comfortable, it is
where you are fully aware of your self,
and the life around you.
   It fluctuates, as a living essence
contained within in your mind and soul.
It can move you, and move with you,
and, conveniently, does not have to be
sorted through or boxed up (that’s
just stuff).It goes where you go, or can.
   Sometimes it can be hard to find, and
you can leave it in one place, expecting
to find it again along the way.
   It is not always there. There are always
people who contribute to this feeling of
home — family, friends, and lovers —
but they are not always there. At times,
you are alone, but it does not mean you
are not at home.
   Home is where you belong. And, often,
there are people who make you feel you
belong there. It can be difficult to put
into words. It can be loud and confusing;
where too much goes on and so much
has to. Yet, in spite of the noise, and
hype, and the pace and demands of
the day, you can still find silence at home.
Home is comfort.
Home is a place you can be yourself.
Home is where you can express yourself.
Home.
   I want to go home.
                                                     j.g.l.

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