Home

Home. Home is my room. Its my soft, king size bed and gigantic comforter that I need no matter which season it is. Home is the study table that extends to two sides of my room at a perfect height and the red rolling - chair having unequally positioned arms that goes with it. Home is the clock that's completely out of order, but still ticks every second, as if to remind me that time is passing. The number of shelves and my big wardrobe... especially the one rack which has two or three 'Seaside' sweaters and a tiny shirt that I painted when I was five, and another drawer at the far end of the room which has all my journals safely tucked away in it, covered in all kinds of stationery I fell in love with years ago but didn't have the heart to use. Home is where everything revolves aaround me. Where everyone loves nothing more than me. Where two people happily renounce their lives for me. Its the Land of No Denial, where *poof* I get everything I want even before I know I want it. Home is the conversations we have in my parents' room and the jokes we crack. Gossiping with my mom. Late night talks with my dad. Home is how we don't go to bed without saying goodnight to each other one hundred times. Home is falling asleep on my mom's lap and my dad's comforting hug. Home is how my dad comes to check to check on me and see if i'm alright every night, twice before he goes to bed himself. Maybe I haven't grown up enough. But maybe I don't even want to...