Where is My Home

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I walk down the silent road, skimming the gray and worn asphalt beneath my feet. The roar if the yellow bus behind me made me look back as it sped from my very sanctuary and ventured to another world of its own concern. Sighing, I continued to walk down the winding street that was trailing in front of and behind me; enclosing me, sheltering me. It was sheltering me from any harm in the world, waving its shining, glistening shield to protect me from the blazing arrows the world threw at me. Below me, the pink blossoms from the long gone cherry blossom tree were scattered beneath my feet, as if to guide me. They acted like the cobblestone from a long ago alley way, guiding a lost traveler back home. With each step, I could see new opportunities up to me, and old ones shutting their doors to the outside world forever. As I slowly lift my heavy head up to look ahead of me, I see that solemn door, with that odd dazzling glare, always there for me. It will always be there, as part of that old, gloomy house that will always remain so familiar.

As I walk up the average black asphalt driveway, I see flowers to my left and right, opening up their blossoms, as if to welcome me back from a hard day of work, as they continuously do with each coming day. I walk up the dusted steps outside that door- so ordinary yet so welcoming and special. As I stop to think for a second, everything seems to stop and wait as if to hold its breath : A taxi driver in a gleaming yellow taxi cab pulls up to a light in New York City and waits for it to turn green; a millionaire dressed in an expensive, polished tuxedo waits for his turn in an intense game of poker; a smiling pizza man with white flower lingering on his mustache waits to place the finishing touch of Garlic Sauce to a fresh, steaming pizza ; a tourist atop the Grand Canyon waits, and watches the glorious sunset as it stretches across the horizon; a Washington State farmer waits for his fresh apple pie to cook in his generation old, Italian style oven; a jogger jogs up to the next light, and waits for it to turn green. All of these happen at a place very near home, where a small boy orders a soda from a vending machine, and presses his nose against the glass to watch it drop down from its stand.

I sit down for a moment, and then begin to laugh uncontrollably. And right then, I know I am the richest person in the world, for having family is the best thing anyone could have.





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