This month’s word is home, meaning “a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household” or “the place in which one’s domestic affections are centered”.
This is really really late, sorry, so it’s going to be short.
This place was never my home. It’s where I sleep, where I eat, but I don’t live here. This is just the place I exist in.
I don’t think I’ve ever really had a home, a place where I belonged. Just a series of temporary abodes.
Home has always been a theoretical concept for me. Sometimes I think I’m missing out, other times I’m grateful for the freedom. It’s all a matter of perspective, I suppose.
And my perspective has always been odd.