sunflower [ poetry/ proses/ quotes]

➸ home is not four walls

A soft breeze blew; nostalgia entered with sweet oblivion and passionate sadness, the flowers danced in its rhythm and the birds, perched up on the tree branches, sang anthems of joy and love, in its melody. How tranquil and serene, did it all look, with the sky washed in the most calming shade of blue. Life had returned, in the once abandoned town that was her heart. Because that is how home is like. Home is like the special hours, the scent of setting suns, the profound darkness of the twilight air which will protect with its boundaries of love and freedom. Home is nothing more than the aroma of freshly baked cookies that welcome you after a tiresome day of work, or the arms of your lover which hold you while you cry and pour the sorrows of your heart to them. Or even your favourite book which never fails to uplift your mood. Home can be your journal which you turn to when everything seems to be falling apart. For an artist, it may be the strokes of pain, they very dearly leave on the plain white canvas. Likewise, words for the writer and nature for the photographers. What I'm trying to say, is that home is not confined to a place with 4 walls. It's not the place where you live. It's the person, thing or place that calms your soul and brings peace to you. Home is the feeling of you being platonically in love with walls, photographs, ceilings, family and most importantly yourself.