365 days of the year, running ’round, running ’round and going nowhere

by theodotdoron

Home is where the heart is. There is no place like home! Home sweet home. Good, we got all the clichees out of the way. What is home? And what truly reminds me of it? Is home my current place of stay? Then travelling would grant me to have many homes. Or is home my place of origin? Where I was sourced and made? Brooklyn Beckham’s home would be NYC rather than the English countryside. Or is home a place I am looking forward to come “home” to? How about the fridge in my case? Or Magnolia Cupcakes? Or my Spouses arms?

Maybe home is actually an entirely different place, something we have a vague recollection of. Every time we are sad, we are reminded of home. How we really are not even made for sadness. Injustices we witness tell us we are from a place where injustice is as alien as ALF. Our ability to imagine boundless space, endless time, unexplainable beauty stems from the fact that our origin is not one of finality, but of eternity. Every “I will always love you” uttered in secret tells us of our less than humble origin. We ourselves serve as a reminder of our real home, God, where we will never cry one tear. Ever!