It is so unbelievably good to be home. I left on the 23rd of July and, barring a short stop with a pile of people, have not been home since.

 
I have lived in lots of places and in lots of circumstances. I have made a home for myself in an upstairs room in a mansion; in a closet sized hole in London; in a hotel room in Tanzania; in a loft in Mile End; in hostels and boarding houses; alone and in groups; in good  times and bad. I am good at making a home, but i seldom have much attachment to the home.

I move, i wander, i flit.

 

But this home feels like i where i need to be. And it is where i want to be.

 
It smells like me; a mixture of perfume, deodorant and cooking.
It feels like me; soft and warm and comfortable with all sorts of interesting bits and pieces lurking in the corners
It looks like me; generous and abundant, nestling in a flourishing garden, surrounded by growth and promise
It sounds like me; silent with loud splashes and random splurges
It tastes like me; toothpaste and garlic in equal measure

  I love my home
It envelopes me and makes me feel safe

 I am SO glad to be home!

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