I miss my home.
It’s been either 10 days or 11 that I moved back to my family house.

I miss my couch, my tv, the junkyard I live in.
I miss my peace, I miss my guitar, I miss my coffee stains on the floor.

It’s been more than 7 years since I moved out against their wish,
But since then I am happy, liberated.

I came to realize that my independence was good.
It taught me how to mange a house, to be responsible.
It taught me how to cook, clean, laundry, ironing.
It morphed me to the person I am, that my parents love, instead of the misfit that I was when I lived under their roof.

Today I drove to my house just to sit on my couch for 10 minutes and left.
I miss my home.

After 10 days out of my house, I still feel like a visitor, I still knock on the door before I enter my brother or sisters room, I fear invading their privacy, I ask permission to do this or that.

It is true, a mans house is his castle.

I wanna go home.