As I watched my mom decorate her tree last night, I was thinking that "home" is never a specific town or house or room where the tree resides.
It's instead a series of moments we gather- like snapshots on a string, of the times spent with people we love most. The quietest moments that hold still the longest and echo the loudest in a quickly turning world. If you could collect one crucial thing in this life, let it be the moments, the snapshots, the collection of still points that make up "home", and hold them close in spaces that remain open when you need to return.
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