When I think of my house, I think of home. I feel lucky to have it to live in. It is comfortable, has bookshelves, a kitchen I like to cook in, a backyard that borders on woods, for the cats.
My house has a mortgage, which makes me uneasy. It makes me wonder about ownership in general.
When I think about my true home, in the sense of belonging, I think of the place I lived in when I was in high school, not necessarily the house that I lived in, but the town itself.
