A study, of words, in crimson, sometimes blue, rarely yellow.


Home. That’s where I want to be. A place where I’m not ridiculed or demeaned; a place where what I say is heard and what I do is seen.

Home; a place where my heart is, where my soul is at peace.

But what is home? Out of all the millions of definitions that each one of us would give it, which one sticks as universal? What is this place where we all want to be, this place that we’re all searching for but can’t seem to find? Is it a place, a feeling, or a purpose maybe? Maybe it’s just a thought, an illusion that we’ve conjured up, a motivational tool for when the going gets too tough.

Does “home” even exist in this plane, in this universe? Maybe it is somewhere beyond; beyond reach, beyond imagination but never beyond hope.

Home is where I want to be right now; at peace with myself, at peace without.

Home is where I want to be.


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