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Descriptive Essay About Home

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My house, not my home, just my house. There is a difference, but I wonder if anyone notices other than me. A home has special touches, the cozy feelings, family, memories, and most importantly it gives you and your family something to be proud of. It is something your parents have worked hard to have, it is hopefully a place you feel safe, loved and know better than anywhere. Home isn’t really based on what it looks like, it’s a feeling, or is it a mix of both? I believe it is a mix of feeling and appearance. Because I once had a home, a place I was proud of not only for its looks and feeling, but because my family was there. But now my home is just a house, and not even really that, it is a renovated garage. I used to live in a real house made of red brick with forest green shudders, and an attached garage with an acre of land, my own bedroom and plenty of space. It had a nice living room with a bay window where lots of light came in, this room was where Indiana’s 4 was watched nightly as a family and where my dad and I played video games while my mom made supper in the kitchen. The kitchen was a room that filled the house will amazing smells, my mom would cook as my dad would pace the room telling her about his day, idiots of the road, and what his newest plans to renovate his office were. His office was at the very back of our home, and was where my dad burnt the midnight oil writing every sermon on Saturday nights and calling perspective insurance costumers. I used to

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