A dwelling place,
Not constant,
But consistently changing;
Never somewhere physical,
But at some times;
Time changes us,
Redefines home for us
From time to time.

My bed, my toilet,
My sweet spots,
My computer,
All of these spots,
Transient, yet are still part of our memories.

Fond, bittersweet,
To abject homelessness,
Home does not have to be where your biological family is,
It can be your family in Christ,
It can be your grand parents,
It can be your work place,
It can be the hawker store that you always go,
It can be, anywhere,
Where you feel, home.

If being at home,
Makes you feel alone,
You are not at home.

If being at home,
Hurts you, literally,
You are not at home.

If being at home,
Depression still hunts you incessantly,
You are not at home.

If being at home,
Feels like home,
Even spending a couple of hours
Hanging out with your friends;
Playing the piano;
Writing your heart out;
Makes you feel your worth,
Makes you feel warm,
Makes you feel where you belong,
Then, you are home.

Are you home?

Mild

Craving for more? Down below:
Finding The Balance
Moved On.
Please… Just… STOP!
Above, Solo (Rewritten)
My First Car Accident
Losing Touch with Originality
I’m Sorry.
400

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