The Way Home
I stare out the car. Raindrops race each other down the window in the back seat. I see people’s homes. Condos, apartments, town homes, duplexes and houses. All very different, but in a way they are similar. Me and my family, driving down the cold streets of Vancouver, together. We are on our way home.
Home. A place where everyone is on your team. Home is a place where you can escape from the cold, cruel glares from the outside world. A place for the good times and the bad. A place to love and to be loved. A place of comfort and warmth, friends and family. Home is a place where you don't have to worry about people judging you for who you’re not. At home you can be yourself. That is what home means to me. I look up. The car has stopped in front of our house. We all climb out of the black minivan and race to the front door. I giggle as we rush to avoid the large raindrops. My dad throws me the keys and I unlock the house. We all smile as we peel off our wet jackets. My parents tell my brother and I to go get ready for bed. I brush my teeth, get changed and slide into bed. My mom and dad walk slowly up the stairs. They come into my room and stand over my bed.
“We love you,” they say simultaneously.
“I love you too,” I whisper back. And I know deep down in my heart that nothing can tear us apart from this place. I know that I will never forget the way home.
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