Kicking off your shoes at the front door after a long day and making a beeline straight for the fridge. A thumping heartbeat after running around. The euphoric high that comes with a soulful exchange (namely gossip and motivation). The close five that make your life. Their distinct handwriting and their signature dishes. Lie ins and long walks in the greenery. Only being able to dream of your childhood home. Tea and biscuits in front of the TV on a rainy afternoon. Words of love and the matching actions that follow. The vaguely familiar dysfunctional cycles that we just, cannot, break. Squeeze hugs and cheekbone kisses. Cosy contained spaces (to compensate for the bunk bed you never had). Old photos and home videos, where everyone looks different but their voices still sound the same. Knowing the lyrics to a song you can’t even name. The tattoo on your left forearm, and the space between 8 and 11am. It all feels gorgeously like home.