If the Heart Is Always Searching, Will I Ever Find a Home?
I stopped running in a near by park and sat down on a bench. I felt tears running down my face. I hated this place, I hated the predictable weather, I hated the brightness, and most of all I hated him.
I had been here for not even a week, and he had already made me feel unwelcome. I never even did anything to him, and he was a complete ass.
"My dear, why are you crying on this beautiful day?" I heard from in front of me, I looked up to see an old couple, talking a walk through the park. The man was smiling at me in a kind manner.
"I want to go home." It sounded childish, I know. But it pretty much summed up every way I was feeling.
"Sweet child, don't you know, that Home isn't a place, or where you eat or sleep. Home is where the heart is, sweetie. And as long as you know where your heart is and belongs, your home." The man said, he and his wife waved silently and carried on with there walk.
what the hell was he talking about?