Nica

Home is where you make it.

A sunrise peaking through your window at 5 am, a coffee on the swings by the bar as the world slowly starts to awake. The swell of the ocean as you tread carefully into her depths and surrender all control.

Home is the smiles shared by people who barely speak two words of the same language, but can communicate appreciation wordlessly. Home is card games going on for hours, erupting into laughter, and fading into a sleepy mess. Home is being tucked in gently when the wind becomes too harsh in the middle of the night, and secret stolen kisses always promising tomorrow.

Home is here, and here I am.