Home is where the heart is that’s what they say right? We had talked about that the night we spend together on the beach.
“I think it’s true” he said
“What if you don’t have a home?” I asked.
“I don’t think home has to be a place. It can be an object or a person. It’s something that makes you feel safe and protected. Something that gives you comfort. I feel that way when I’m on my board.”
Right now I think he was right. I was at home. My home in New Hampshire, with my mom and dad and sister. This was my home. But my home is not where my heart is. My heart was far away. But home can be a person. That’s what he said. And my heart was left in California, with a person. A person I had let past my defenses and into my heart. A person I had fallen in love with despite how determined I was to never love again. He stole my heart that night.And truthfully I was scared about having it stolen that’s why I ran away. So does that mean he’s my home? I feel safe when I’m with him. But i feel scared at the same time.