he asked me what home meant to me.
and for me that question said so much of his character. but that did not matter as much as what it said about mine.
my thoughts. my truth. my growth. to be able to understand. how much has changed. how far i have come and why. to know for me, home is not a place.
home is not a person. home is not a group of people. home is not and will never be created by a man.
home is in my heart. i am home. i get to choose what my home looks like. who i invite into it. my home is designed by me and my why. i can bring my home where ever it wants to go.
my home is filled in the quiet places. it can be found on a mountain top or in a coffee shop full of laughter. my home is within me.
a home without tension.
a home that loves through the darkness.
a home that can see beyond the clouds.
a home that can show me the words.
a home that feels through the process.
a home that is moved by the gestures of humanity.
a home that is inspired by stories + hope.
a home that is my heart.
i am keeping my front door open