One of the things you learn as the years creep forward is how much you rely on things, things the way they are. You are used to the chair in the corner, the rug beneath the table and the sofa against that particular wall. On occasion these things are changed around a bit but the feeling quickly settles back into a familiar pattern. All of these things constitute a home. But the home is more than just the stuff inside no matter where it is located.
A home is a sense of place and a feeling one gets when it is entered. You can step into another's house and almost immediately know if it's a home, a home of caring and love or a house of tolerance. My Beloved is currently away on a girls trip. As is usually the case when that happens I find myself falling back into patterns of twenty years ago when I was a bachelor. I stay at work a little longer, I eat at the kitchen sink (guys do that but I don't think women do), and generally fill my time with busy-work. I think back on those times when she is away and I reminded how things were back then. I was content but I wouldn't call my life happy. I had a close circle of friends (and still do) and a strong family bond to fall back on. But as I rumble around my house tonight, twenty-plus years removed from being single I can still remember the feelings of a life long-ago, a room with muted silence, a hollow echo and the way my life felt back then.
My Beloved makes my house a home.