home, a place to remember, a place to return to. a place to build a place to feel safe. the place your from where you grew where you aged like a fine wine before you ventured out for the world to get its taste of you, for it to swirl you around in its glass and sip you, enjoy you, laugh about things with you with cheese and crackers. but be weary, they may see you as another tastng convention and spit you out. but as a trapeze artist has a safety net, home will always be there for you, for if the chalk on your halds wheres thin and you slip and fall, when your pushed to the end of the line in a dark scary lonely corner , home will be there for you. right there where you left it, with moms scratchy blankets in the closet and that old pillow thats never quite comfortable, but its there to comfort you if you need it. even though you fought so hard to distance yourself from it, it is there. that seeminly tiny place where you know how to glide across the old creaky livingroom without making a sound or that pitch o