It's not just a house, it's my true home.
It's where I have my most magical childhood memories.
It's where I laid in bed with my cousin on Christmas Eve as Nan rang bells in the attic, and I was sure I heard Santa's sleigh bells on the roof.
It's where Nan let me eat ice cream and cake and pies and cookie dough on the couch.
It's where Nan comforted me when I was struggling with my friends.
It's where every Christmas morning I would walk down the steps to see a room filled with beautifully wrapped presents.
It's where the whole family sat and listened to Grandad in his Santa PJs read the Christmas story out of Luke.
He would get choked up every time because of how indescribably grateful he was for the gift of Jesus.
It's in that house's dinning room where the whole family would play card games as the room filled with their laughter and joy; for a moment they could forget about the worries of life.
Why?- because they were at Nan's house.
It's where I feel safe and loved.
It's my little slice of heaven I get here on this earth.
It's the first place my mind goes to when I think of joy and life and peace.
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