I'm a flight attendant. Yes, it sounds beautiful, and yes, I love my job. But honestly, sometimes I envy people who go home in the evening knowing someone is waiting for them. Sometimes, my home is just a hotel room.

And you know what I feel most strongly between flights? Not fatigue. Not jet lag. But the emptiness around me.

I fly a lot, but I want to land more and more. I don't want adventure, but that very quiet, true happiness. I don't need perfect words. I need a feeling. Warm, calm, real. To be with a man who isn't afraid of distance but cherishes the moments we share.

I'm writing because maybe someone will read these lines and feel something familiar. Because the heart, too, sometimes more quietly, sometimes more loudly, searches.

What does home mean to you a place or a person?

Thank you for your attention, your flight attendant.