It's a strange year. My friends here have blurred the family line to a point that makes it seem silly to even try and distinguish. Friends are the family you choose, right? I'm sitting here on a friend's couch, and this couch is so much more familiar than my mother's couch at this point. I have a key here - I don't have a key to my mother's. So is this home? Is this town home? The state?
Or is home people?
I guess it doesn't really matter enough to spend time defining it. Home, in my world, has become where ever I am loved and cared for, and a place where I don't have to keep my guard up. Right now, that is this house. Is this a permanent home? Obviously not - I don't live here. Is it necessary to have a permanent "home" - a building to go back to that you're always welcome? Obviously not, because I haven't had one for a while. To me, home is people. Yes, in a larger sense it's this town, but this town is nothing but a maze of streets and buildings that are brought to life by the people in it... without them, it would mean nothing.
Without them, home is nothing.