I've always been a homebody. I've always felt most myself when I'm at home, busy with home matters. Cooking, cleaning, tidying up and making sure everything felt exactly like home.
And yet, home has always been something that was just out of reach for me. Ever since I left my childhood home, a real home has been something I couldn't find, no matter how hard I looked. I always felt like a gypsy, building one home, just to burn it down and go on the road to find another one.
And as fate would have it, another home would always be there waiting for me, despite the chaos of life. A home was always there for me. A place where I found peace and quiet.
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