What Home Means to Me

I don’t know what home means to me? Cozy? Maybe is the time I sit on my sofa watching TV. Or maybe it is every time I lay on my bed the start of the day. Maybe it is when I go picnic at the start of May. Happiness? Maybe it is when my front door welcomes me. Or maybe the time my mom makes us a pie. Maybe my dad and I play with kite. The kite flies and flies, dancing in the sky. Home? Is it where I sleep and eat everyday? Or is it where I miss in the other place? Could it be where I stay? Is it where I live now? Or is it where I live then? Maybe is both where I call home, but home to me is not just a place. Is where I laugh, where I’m me. Home to me is where I belong to, Is not just me but with my family. That the place I call home.