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Home is my best friend's house. I suppose that's why when I go there and I smell the house (he has a distinct smell and so does his house) I feel immediately safe, welcome and comfortable.
My parents moved out of my "home" when I was 20. While I enjoy their new house, it's not my home. I don't go "home" when I go there. I go to visit my family.
Home is where my heart is--and my heart is with my friends these days. Invariably, they can be found traipsing in and out of my best friend's house.
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If I am not better, at least I am different. --Jean-Jacques Rousseau
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