Content

They washed their sheets every two weeks and opened the windows on warm sunny days. Their house had many smells – vanilla, baking bread, clean laundry, books, coffee and tea in the mornings – but shame was not one of them.

The walls knew laughter, even when paint peeled and dirt splattered. Souls and plants were kept alive, fed, and loved. Sadness was not locked up in musty basements or dark cupboards. It showed its face on sleepless nights and days with too much light, but it was welcomed with warm blankets and listening ears.

There were jokes told in words and subtle movements. There was friendship so strong it cracked ribs and made eyes glisten. There was hope for the future and peace for the past.

Home was the place they lived and the bodies they lived in.