A friend recently waxed poetic on what is meant by “home”. Does it mean different things? Does it mean anything at all? Is it a place or a state of mind?
This was my reply:
“Home is that familiar place that slips on and covers your soul like a favorite pair of slippers that cushions and warms your feet. It is that sacred space where, free of all of life’s masks and facades, we can be ourselves and bare our souls to those with whom we share the most intimate and darkest corners of our mind.”