A home is not a home,unless it has memories of love.The smell of the turkey cooking in the oven on Thanksgiving. Decorating the Christmas tree with colorful lights with my family. Ho ,ho, ho, my father always dressed as Santa. Grandpa playing the accordion, while , my baby brother scuffles with the gifts under the tree. Mom always wanting to add more wood to the fireplace Coming home to see my parents dancing to Frank Sinatra music. No longer does that vision exist. The memories are just visions in the clouds for now .The key still opens the door, but all I see now ,are sticks and stones. my heart is breaking. I wish I could go back in time. My house no longer feels like home.