What is home?
Is it a place where we lay to rest?
Or the place where we feel our best?
Is it even a place at all?
Or something more than words can tell?

For me,
Home is when your eyes meet mine
Glimmering with love and passion
And full of life.
Home is where your fingertips
Brush and caress my cheek.
Tracing every bump and every freckle
And every ridge.
Home is how you hold me tight
When darkness dims my light.
With warmth in your heart
And embers in your bones,
Love weaving through every curve
And every touch,making me whole.
Home is not a place afar
But what you are.

© deardiary

[Photo credits: Ryan Miller Photography]