I know–it sure doesn’t look like much. An old mattress on the floor, boxes piled high, and not much furniture.
I don’t know the last time I felt “at home.” It’s something I was searching for.
I wondered if I would ever find it. I wondered what it would feel like if I did.
A little apartment on the third floor of an old building in an old town.
Beneath these slanted ceilings, I feel comfort, safety, warmth. I look forward to coming back to this place after a long day at work. I find myself wishing I was there when away for a night. There’s satisfaction: this little tiny corner of the world is mine, at least for a little while.
Is this home?