Where Is My True Home?

When I used to go to school, I would always feel super excited about going back home to where my parents were. When each hour passed, I'd become happier and happier, knowing my time to go home would arrive.

However, by the time my father picked me up and took me home, and we entered the front door and saw everything as I left it...I would tell myself I'm home at last...what does my heart usually tell me?

"I'm not at home yet."

I knew what my house looked like, where it was and what address it had. I slept, ate, played and was with my family there. It was the place that I had spent years growing up at, and should already have acknowledged it as my home. Yet, I couldn't seem to make myself do so. Why? I loved being at that house I knew as my home, but somewhere inside me...I'm being told I'm not home yet, and that feeling was stronger at school, but more true.

I don't know why...but I couldn't seem to make myself believe...that home, was home. All my toys, games, books and clothes were there. 

What place was it that was truly home? I don't understand.

Even now I can never find my true home, or the answer to the feeling. I love my family and want to be at my home, where they are.

Yet that seems impossible for some reason.