the origin point.
where moral and rational meet.
made from the tree watered with sour wine
made from the sweat of hard work and diligently.
you are both hot and cold
you are both my paradise and war zone
you are both my heart and soul.
bead quilt,
made from different cloths
with different patterns,
different colors- yet made something:
welcoming,
that is held together by both care and rebellion, that was sowed with tender softness from working hands that did not seem capable to love.
my own melting ***,
where my copper and tin could be turned into something more useful,
where lessons came from mistakes,
where tears were just as bittersweet as lemonade,
sometimes more inclined to another extreme.
my first experience with anger,
my first experience with sadness,
my first experience with friendship,
my first experience with reconciliation.
i learned how to love,
how to be happy,
how to be free,
how to forgive,
all between your walls.
a classroom,
a laboratory,
a sanctuary,
a debate,
a court trial,
a playground,
a celebration,
a refuge,  
a memory box.
where seasons are each like a different color lens,
spring if anticipation,
the tulips outside my home are out before the warmth was fully come.
summer of freedom,
butterflies and nights of music, dreams and the stars.
autumn of gratitude,
coffee, come together and walk on bright days that remind us of warm times.
winter of joy,
piles of worries that melt away with the snow, a new start, a new reason to be happy.
i see time pass by,
seated on my couch,
looking out the window.
i wonder if the person who built this place knew that what they were really building was my life.
the countless laughter,
the countless tears,
discoveries,
creations,
and destructions
that I hold dear
all happened here.
you aren’t just my house,
you are home.