La vita è bella

I was sixteen when I realized the house I had grown up in wasn’t really a home, I don’t think it had ever been. To me it hadn’t at least. I had a place to put all my shit and sleep, and a roof over my head with food in my mouth but the idea of a home was just sort of.. gone. I felt homesick for a place that didn’t exist outside of my head, a place I had never even been. I so desperately wanted to have a place to call home. My parents home was just a house to me, never a home. I found it both sad and comforting. Sad, because I didn’t have a place I felt safe in, a place I could really come ‘home’ to. But comforting, because I knew that somewhere out there was a place just waiting for me. A place I could call home someday and it would be MY home and I couldn’t wait to find it.