In my 38 years of being on this planet, so far I have had 8 addresses. The first 3 of those were the family home shared with my Parents and siblings. They really were home to me. The remainder were houses or flats shared with housemates, the significant other in my life at the time, or latterly, with just my son. None of those later 5 I would class as home, just a place that I have resided. To me, a home is yours, mortgaged or not. I have only ever rented as an adult, and short of winning the lottery to enable me to buy, it is highly unlikely that I will ever get on the property ladder myself.
I try my best to make our current place of residence feel like home for my son. I like living there. It is a cosy little 2 bedroom cottage style terraced house. But to me, it isn't home. It may be because of the mess, or because I didn't get that feeling people talk about when buying a house, where they love the house as soon as they see it and feel like it's home. It saddened me to realise, that I may never have a home of my own.
The Nomad
From a loving home
Setting out on my own
Finding my own two feet
First here and then there
Adventure turning to despair
Never finding my welcome retreat.
I have had many abodes
And hospitality bestowed
I am thankful to all and to each
But a little place of my own
Just mine, not on loan
Eludes, always just out of reach.
So I drift ever on
Searching over yon
Realising it may never come true
To have my own door
A roof, walls and floor
I'm a Nomad with an ever changing view.
Thanks for reading. x ;-)
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