My Home

I'm not sure if home is a place. For me, it's more of a feeling of right-ness, of happiness, of contentment.

My "home," the place where my parents and sisters live--is not my home anymore. I used to live there, it used to be my house--but it's not home.

Returning from spring break last night, seeing my boyfriend at the airport to pick me up--that was my home. It felt right. I was happy, I was content... and I knew everything would be all right.