It took me so long to realize that home is not just a place with four walls built upon the vows of a married couple who said they'd give me the world if they could but never told me that I am a universe on my own. And even though the old house is the place I am dying to touch the walls of one more time, it's not my home anymore. It was this one single night when a stranger passed through me that I knew that home is not just some apartment, but a person, a thought, a faded memory, the open arms of somebody or even me; I am my home. For all I know, I hold myself together firmly and shelter myself from the world that shall come to an end any minute now. Or so I hope.