Where the Heart Is.

I like to look at Craigslist and pick cities I wouldn't mind running off to. I click on houses that I could afford and try to picture myself living in them. 

I imagine the gnome I would place atop the front steps, the flowers I'd plant along the house, the cold walk to the mailbox on winter mornings. I picture, perfectly, the cozy couch in my living room and the coffee mugs in the cupboards, the wilting house plants in the windowsill, and the letters from Mom in a box under my bed.

I want trick-or-treaters and coffee brewing every autumn, Christmas lights and holiday parties each winter. I want blooming buds and butterflies in my yard during the spring, inviting my closest friends to indulge in backyard barbecues and homemade lemonade come summertime. 

I want to make memories.

I want a home.