When you hear the word "home", initially what comes to mind? Is it the scent of your mom's homemade pie? Is it the unusual looking drapery, kitchen table, or carpeting from your dad's "big project of the month"?
Well, my definition of home is an old box filled with memorabilia. From when I first began as a poet at the age of 14 to pictures of awkward teenage years. I can move from place to place at any given time, but it will always be my most-prized possession that will bring me back home.
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