What is home?
A roof and walls?
A place?
A feeling?
A person?
A Family? One you come from or have created?
Perhaps it is the intersection of these things, all or some at any time. Somewhere that is safe, and holds moments of joy, and sadness and the ordinary.
I came back tonight to a flat that contains my things, my work, my life It was cold. It is where I live. I will light candles, defrost lentil soup and drink red wine, and be glad that my sister picked me up from the airport and that Mum called to say 'Hi'.
I will pretend, for now, that this is home.
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