I love home. I stayed at my parents' house last night.
Warmth. In more ways than one.
Warmth...I know every single time I walk in the door I will be greeted by three excited dogs. Even before I walk in the door I can hear their anxious "woofs" and see their noses against the windows.
Warmth...my parents have a gas stove. Boy, is that thing warm. I park myself in front of it as much as possible when I'm home. I may burn the backs of my legs, but the heat sure does feel good.
Warmth...the familiar feeling of family, of home, of unconditional love.
At this very moment, warmth...the sun pouring in through the window, my sweet Abbey curled up in my lap as I type on my sister's Mac. The other two dogs are sprawled out, asleep on the couch.
This feels good.
I know soon I'll be permanently sharing a new home with my love, starting new traditions, starting our own family someday.
But for now, I savor these moments. The ones where I don't feel quite as bad still calling this my home, even though I have my own apartment that is starting to feel like home a couple towns away.
Warmth never felt so good.