Home is the exquisite smell of mom’s Thyme Manakeesh at the crack of dawn.

Home is the rebellious sound of dad’s Volvo as he gets set to start off his workday.

Home is the rumble of the kids next door as they hop onto their school buses.

Home is the warmth of a bed, the warmth of a family, the warmth of a heart.

My heart is home. Home is my Shtoura…


About monakaraoui

Editor by day, journal blogger by night.. View all posts by monakaraoui

4 responses to “Home

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