Sometimes home is not a house. 

I’ve been thinking about when our posting here comes to an end and we move. I love this house and the effort I’ve put into making it a pretty place. We have put sweat and tears into building furniture and moving it around. Although it’s very small it’s a lovely place. I adore the location, right by the sea where I love to be the most. 

I thought the idea of leaving this house would make me sad; but I actually don’t mind. Although I cross my fingers for an extension I don’t feel sad. I know it’s cliche but … no matter where we end up, as long as we are together, I’m home and where I need to be. I suppose it’s always been that way. When he was posted in wales every 7 hour journey felt like I was traveling towards home and not away.
We are approaching a whole year of marriage and we met almost 7 years ago.  He’s been traveling around and away our whole relationship. Weeks and months away, it will probably be that way for sometime and yet I still feel the same buzz and the same butterflies every time I see his face. When he leaves the house to go away it feels a little emptier, a little less warm, a little less homely. 

Whether we end up in a different part of the country in a bigger or smaller house it doesn’t matter.

Home doesn’t have windows, doors and a nice garden… it has two handsome eyes, warm hugs and makes me laugh. 

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