a home

I used to think everyone would always have a home to return to. And that everyone actually had a home. Not necessarily a building, but just a place that accepts us as we are that’s already a home. Back then, it was so easy to picture what a home looked like. Even drawing it was simple. Maybe not realistic, but it always had two windows in the front, one door, and a little chimney. And of course, an apple tree standing next to it with its fruits. Just like a template drawing, the same way kids draw mountains. But growing up took me somewhere completely different. I can’t really imagine it anymore, let alone draw it. I can’t even go back to a place I’d call home. Now it feels like such a luxury to have a home. Not because houses are getting more expensive, but because there’s no place that truly accepts every flaw.