Everyone has at least once come in contact wit the cliché statement ‘home is where the heart is.’ I wonder though, where exactly is this ‘home’ for so many people? Where does this heart reside?

         Is it that new apartment you and your friend moved to when you started college? Yes the one with the incredible view of New York late at night, when everything shone oh so bright. Where on the way to campus, you indulged yourself to morning espresso and a danish at your preferred café. The living room always littered with books, papers, and pencils at the dreary hour of 1:00 am. The kitchen, where a glass vase stocked with orange tulips –your favorite- play decoration on your granite countertop.

         Is it that townhouse you and five other children grew up in? Celebrating Christmas and every other occasion with them, and the woman you considered mother, though you had no relation by blood to any of them. Remember your bedroom? Yes, the one you shared with the quiet boy with eyes of green. The bunk-bed still resides there, along with posters of rock bands you adored, only now a different soul sleeps there. He has eyes of amber and hair that reminds me of wildfire. Do you recall your high school years? The building occupied many copies with snobby attitudes and mainstream taste in music. You seemed to be the only one distinct.

           Is it that ramshackle warehouse you ran off to, at the age of sixteen, to flee from your drunk father? You occupied it as a home until, at the age of almost nineteen you moved into a dorm at York University. Recollections of rooting wood and the faint scent of dandelions find their way back to you.

              Is it that mansion you grew up in? Though you had everything one could ever dream of, you were at a loss for one thing. Parents. The beings who would, on your birthday bake you a cake, and sing something along the lines of happy birthday. You would give anything for two that cared for you. Yet these cream colored walls confine you. And these ceiling with diamond chandeliers hold you captive to all you have ever known, and that is to live a life of solitude.

              Maybe home isn’t a piece of architecture you had once resided in. maybe it is so much more. Could it possibly be where memories of love and more comforted you? Where you were taught the most deepest and truest lessons. Maybe it reassured you of who you somewhat wanted to be, and who you did not.

              Home is so much more than where our heart is, because our hearts not only hold on to memories of joy, but recollections of suffering and loneliness. Home may not always be where our heart has found refuge, but more of where we created ourselves. And found what truly mattered to you