Home

I was thinking last night about a test I took a while ago.

What Word Are You?

I'm: Home.

Originally, I didn't think anything of it. I still don't think much of the test, as it's pretty clearly an advertisement for a book.

Despite this, I was thinking about the word "home." There's the cliché, "Home is where the heart is," and it's incredibly true. We've heard it so much, though, that we may only see this for its obvious interpretation. I grew up in Asheville, NC, so Asheville will always be home to me.

That isn't why I'm writing this blog entry.

I've been asked many times how I knew I was in love. Every time, I've failed to give a good answer, but the answer came to me the other night: "Home." When you're in love, Home isn't where you grew up. Home isn't where you spent most of your life. Home isn't a city, state, or your native country. Home isn't where you pay rent or where you sleep at night.

Home is a person. Wherever I am, if I'm with her, I'm home.


I've been homeless for more than a year.