The walls are punctuated by our old artworks. The floors are covered by our rugs, and the TV my mother and I bought when I was 17 and my frugal father left the country on business for a week is in the new sitting room.
But it feels like home because it feels like I’m returning. To where I was born, and to somewhere I’ve lived. I feel comfortable in a city I know well.
I didn’t think I needed a home. But there’s something missing when you live life as a rolling stone. Something warm, fuzzy and comforting.
Moss.
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