Home.
I once believed it was a place,
A house with four connected walls,
Stories told around trash-filled bonfires,
Mountains of leaves piled in the backyard.
Perhaps it was a group of people,
The ones who taught you everything,
Everyone you laugh with in lunch lines,
Adopted siblings who catch your tears.
Yet I found home to be a sensation,
Warmth that courses through the veins,
Sunshine that kisses the skin just right,
Which means anything is home I suppose.
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