It’s the sound you hear when your laughing with your family. It’s the sound you hear when a guitar plays from the corner of your ear.
The way his guitar strums and makes me feel warm Inside, like warm tea going down your throat.
The feeling of home isn’t an ordinary feeling.
It’s the goosebumps you get as a leaf blows by you. The colour orange as a constant reminder of your Childhood, like the rain that drips from the grey skies.
I can not define home with just words, but i can with silence.
The pitter-patter of rain immune to me to become the silence.
No birds or grasshoppers chirping, not even any sound from the wild thieves with striped tails wondering in the night.
Only the sound of memories repeating in my head. And the images repeating to bring a smile to my face. To make me think to myself, that’s my home and i’ll never forget it.