I envy people who have a real home. Not just a place to go and visit family, but a place where their heart can feel at home. A place where they feel safe and loved; a place where they belong. A place where the heart and spirit can rest, as well as the body. I have been looking for that place for years. I guess I’m still searching.
They say “home is where the heart is,” and therein lies the problem. My heart is still lost; wandering; waiting to be let in. I have found the place that I want to be home, but I’ve not been invited to stay. My heart finally knows where home is, and I want desperately to be there, but I can’t. The door is shut tight, and I have no key.
I’d give everything I have for just one small crack in that doorway.