My home consists of a beautiful, imaginative mind.

It isn't a house you've lived in for a while.

It isn't college, school, dorms, apartments.

It's my mind.

Although my mind could be a mess at times,

It's still home.

My home also consists of a warming and loving heart.

Home is where the heart is.

As a child, i've always called our house,home. But as i grew up i've realized that a house is not a home.

Home is a feeling. It isn't a place.

Home is where you feel safe,comfortable, loved.

As an adult,our house that we often call home is just as cold as winter. We live together but we don't see each other, we don't talk unless being asked. We don't mingle. It's like living in a building alone.

But i have been helping this orphanage since highschool, that is, what i call HOME. Whenever i see the kids smiling,laughing and playing. I get this overwhelming feeling in my heart that can never be replaced by anything. People there appreciate even the smallest of things. Even a candy could make a little girls' eyes spark so bright.

Home is where your heart is.

And i've found another HOME. Here in Prose. People are supportive,understanding and more. And being part of something that you share a common interest with is just indescribable.