A home is not
Just a place to rest your head.
It's not just a place
With four walls and a bed.
.
Carpets and lamps.
Bathrooms and sinks.
Furnishings and tellys,
That stuff doesn't matter.
.
Home is a place,
That's safe and warm.
Home is a space,
Where you protected from harm.
Where your memories are strong,
For better or worse.
Where your never alone,
Physically or else.
.
Where your dreams take you,
In the middle of the night.
But nightmares can't touch,
Your haven of warmth.
.
Your home could be
A cardboard box.
A simple chair.
A favorite blanket.
.
Some never know, where to look.
For their home.
.
They search a life time,
Far and wide.
I'm glad I wasn't them.
.
Nineteen years
Is all I waited.
For my home
To appear.
.
It never came in the form I expected.
.
Four walls and floors.
Beds and ceilings.
Domestics and Earth.
And traded it willingly.
.
For a sentient ship who talks in my mind.
For a never ending adventure,
Through space and time.
For a unique life,
Of danger and strife.
For a madman,
In a box.
.
But none of those things matter.
What matters is home.
My home.
Despite what you might think.
.
Not the Powell Estate.
Not an alien planet.
Not even the TARDIS,
Though she is my second choice.
.
My home is with a madman.
A wonderful man.
The Time Lord Victorious.
The Oncoming Storm.
Their just titles.
.
The Bad Wolf.
The Abomination.
See,
The same.
.
My home is with him.
Running side by side.
Hand in hand.
In our box.
.
My Doctor.
My Home,
Is in your arms.
That are never ever,
Very far.