She felt like home.

But not in the baking cookies, hugs from your family type home.

She was home in the way that she felt like late night breakdowns, crying silently in your bedroom after your parents fought.

She was home in the way she felt like the disappointing looks from your mother after you come home with bad grades.

She was home in the way I wanted nothing to do with her.

Like home in the worst possible way.

She felt like *my* home.