I lived with a man once for six months.  His name was Brian.  The place we lived in was definitely an apartment, certainly not a home.  What I learned from this experience was that no matter how many pictures you hang, or pillows you buy, or dinners you set out on a freshly made table, nothing ever makes the place a home if it’s still lacking a family.  Not that a family consists of any particular element, only an essence that remains grounded in forever.

Read this story in its entirety