Is a house still a home if the walls are embedded with hate?
Is a house still a home if it's heard more "I hate you"s than "I love you"s?
Is a house still a home if you've cried more than you've laughed?
Is a house still a home if you go to bed each night wondering if you'll be there tomorrow?

A house isn't always a home.

Sometimes a home is a pair of arms wrapped around you whennyou can't breathe.
Sometimes a home is the eyes looking deep within searching for the real you.
Sometimes a home is that iridescent grin that think you don't notice.
Sometimes a home is the way their hand finds yours in the dark.

A home isn't always four walls and a roof.

A home is just as easily a person.