Dimora

This is my home. When I think of all of the houses I have lived in, I realize none of them have felt like home. Recently, my roommate Allison and I had our friends stay at our house while they were passing through Cleveland on tour. They are all really great people with some really great stories. The newest addition to the band was talking about how her childhood home was just sold, she was parting ways with something she loved. I thought, that must be what it feels like to have a home, and to lose a home. I have been very fortunate to have had a steady roof over my head, but still, these roofs never felt like home. They would come and they would go and that was that. Homes are not meant for tip-toes, they are not meant for clean feet. Homes are no place to feel like an inconvenience and no place to feel like you have no place. A home deserves upkeep but not before it has the time to breathe. And most importantly, a home is a place where you feel free.

I have never been in a place that felt like home. These houses they would come and then they would go. But here I am, living with my best friend in a beautiful apartment. Our things grace the walls, our feet firmly planted and stinky (I'll speak for myself). I know this is home, I come and I go. I throw my things on the floor and pick them up once I have had time to breathe. I am proud of my home as a representation of me. And most importantly, I feel free -- free to roam in my undies, free to sing as awful as I so typically do. I am not confined to one room, the whole house is my morning, evening, and night oasis.

We have made a house our home.

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