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Home is supposed to be where you live, but that's not always true.

Home isn't the dorm I live in.

Home isn't these four walls, walls postered with pictures that are supposed to represent me.

Home isn't a bed, dresser, and desk that look just like the ones on my roommate's side of the room, like all of the others in this building.

Home isn't a single window overlooking a concrete world.

Home isn't a place where strangers roam the halls talking, laughing, disrupting.

If this is what home isn't, then what is home?

Home is a log cabin hundreds of miles from the room I'm sitting in.

Home is sunshine and air curling though a screen door on a bright Spring morning.

Home is a kitten purring on my lap and a loud whicker from the barn.

Home is sitting on a couch with a pair of strong arms encircling me.

Home is where people ask questions expecting real answers and understand the difference between genuine and fake.

Home is a world away.

Home isn't here.