What is Home?

Years ago, I wrote a piece I called home. At the time, I thought I knew where that was - that the city that had seen all of the greatest changes in my life was home. The city that had seem me grow up, seen every mistake that I have made in my life, all culminating in one, single happiness: my son.

Home, now, is no longer a place. Home is the sound of my son's laughter. It is the smell of his breath while he sleeps, of his hair just out of the bath. I can stare into his blue, blue eyes, feel tiny hands search my face, a tiny heart beat beneath my fingertips, watch every change, every minute of every day - and that is home. Where he is, I am, and that will always be enough for me from now on.