Home

Home. It’s a word that’s routed into the soul of every living creature on the planet, and one that everything longs for. It doesn’t have to be a place, or even a person. Home can be anything, even just a feeling. For me, home is a picture in my mind. There’s a spacious room, lined with tall dark oak shelves. Each shelf is stuffed full of books in every color, shape, size, and genre. There are large clear windows on the far wall, and the scene outside always changes with my mood. In one fantasy it’s a long winding beach with white sands and clear aqua blue waves. Gulls circle around and dance in and out of the sea foam that the waves wash up against the shore. In another, the scene outside is a bustling street, surrounded by buildings housing restaurants and window shops. The busy noise and smells of cooking food waft up through the windows into the room where I sit behind a long wooden desk. I’m always at this desk, no matter what the scene outside is. This is probably because it’s not outside that makes the place in my dreams home, it’s inside. I can be anywhere in the world, and be happy, as long as I’m in that room. I’m sitting in a cushioned chair, my hands out before me typing away on the slick worked in keys of my laptop keyboard. Words dance on the page, the screen glowing and making my eyes burn a little because I’ve been there so long. On the desk there are notes and doodles pertaining to the book I’m working on at the time in the fantasy. It’s the whole package that makes it home. If the shelves weren’t there, it wouldn’t feel like home to me, and that’s really what this fantasy is, a feeling. One day I hope to make this a reality, and maybe add some touches; like a large chocolate brown Newfoundland resting at my feet underneath the desk, snoring loudly. Whenever I think about this, I feel at home; safe and protected, with no worries or doubts. When I think about this I know who I am, I know what I want. I know that life isn’t as complicated as everything tries to make it, and that I’ll always have a place to retreat to when everything starts to convince me otherwise. That’s what home is in the long run. A safe haven. A shelter. A warmth in the soul.