Felt Like Home

I was raised on winding footpaths, where the tall grass brushed my knees, Chasing shadows through the tree line, learning secrets from the breeze. Every fork became a question, every hill a brand‑new view, And I guess those childhood wanderings were just leading me to you. I followed roads to Argentina, heard old sailors sing in Malaysia, Shared tea with poets in Kyoto, watched dawn break soft on Paraiba. Every region held a story, every stranger held a spark— Little lanterns in the distance lighting corners of the dark. But I never found a place that felt like home beneath my feet, No skyline ever settled all the restless in me. I learned home isn’t somewhere that a map can ever prove— It’s the quiet in my heartbeat when I’m standing next to you. I’ve slept under foreign constellations, crossed the arctic, crossed the sands, Let the markets of Marrakech teach me more than books of any lands. Still the compass kept on spinning, never pointing to a town— Till your laughter cut the silence and the dial settled down. Maybe I was meant to wander just to learn what love can do, How the world feels less like distance when I’m walking it with you. All the trails I took as a child, all the miles I’ve roamed since then— Were the long way ‘round to finding where my story should begin. No, I never found a place that felt like home beneath my feet, But your hand in mine is steady, and the world feels warm and sweet. Home was never in the cities or the skies I traveled through— Home was always in my heart, and my heart lives close to you.