Having a place you can call home is so incredibly important. It’s not the place that makes the home -- it’s the people that do. I don’t feel at home when I’m sitting in my room wrapped in my blankets, a TV show on and the room perfectly air-conditioned. No, I feel at home when the temperature is a little bit too hot, it smells slightly like sweat, and your friends are sprawled all over the couch next to you. Even when their foot is too close to your head or one of them is talking too loud or something feels off, you realize you love everyone just the same because you are home and they are a part of it.

Home is being surrounded by people that you can be yourself around. There is no other way for me to put it. Home is a social function. It’s when you’re surrounded by other humans and you know that they accept you as you are. It’s when they acknowledge your existence and make you feel valid for what you are. Of course, it’s not something they explicitly state. (Picture that. “Hey, I just wanted to say that your existence is valid and everything about you is perfect. No big deal. Anyways, can I get some hot Cheetos?”)

But the thing that is so crucial to having a home is that the love you feel between other people is implicit. The love does not have to be stated in order for it to be real.

And that is what makes home so perfect. Home is when you are surrounded by people who love you both with and without saying so. It’s when their simple existence acknowledges your own and lives with it, lives with you. Home is when you love people and people love you.

Home is where the heart is.