I’m home when I walk in that big brown door
I’m home when I see the messy table full of clutter
I’m home when I see my 23 year old brother sitting on his computer playing games
I’m home when I smell something sweet being baked in the over, the baker being my inspired sister.
I’m home when I hear that loud accordion being played by my father, or the pounding of drums from my brother.
I’m home when a stranger comes to the door, and my furious dog thinks she is 10 feet tall and can scare away anyone. Her big bite from her tiny body does tend to scare most away.
I’m home when I walk into my room. I smell the curious scent of wood from my new furniture and see the baby blue walls on each side of me.
I’m home when I remember the emotions my pillow has taken from my eyes and my broken heart.
I’m home when I feel the tight embrace of my mother’s arms around me after a long day.
I’m home when I see my family gathered around the TV, laughing and telling jokes.
I’m home when I see the doormat that reads, “All Are Welcome” and know that my mother would live by that phrase for all her life.
I’m home when I sit at the table with him, waiting for my parents to come downstairs to meet him for the first time.
I’m home when I smell his scent on my furniture from the last time he was here, multiple weeks ago.
I’m home when my friends bring the ice cream over for a movie night. We sit on the couch and laugh all night until our stomach’s ache from the mix of laughter and ice cream.
I’m home when I feel comfort after walking in from being away for a week and feeling nothing but happiness.
Most of all, I know I’m home when my entire family is gathered together.