As you grow older, you either become more open minded, or more selective. You either see the world as a huge playground to explore, or you begin to pick and choose the people you want to keep in your life, the things you want in your life, the hobbies the experiences that you want to build your world around and call it home. There are days where the night is forever young and you want to forget time and have fun. But there are nights where you just want to come home early, wherever home is, to snuggle and feel comfortable and be so satisfied with wherever you are. So what is home? I love falling asleep in other people's homes, wearing my friends' PJs, fumbling around the taps to figure out which side releases cold water and which one releases hot. I love having tze char with familiar faces, with people I can hug and tell them I love them, with people I want to give all my time to. And these people need not necessarily be related by blood at all. I always feel like I'm cheating on my home because I dread it so much, to quote the kids, this girl always don't want to go home one. It's not that this house is uncomfortable, I must admit I have been thoroughly blessed with a lot of things that I want. But the state of it all, it never feels right. I've come to a point where I'm so comfortable with silence, with tension, with aggression. But I don't want a home like this. I feel guilty for robbing my friends of their family time when I go over and intrude, no matter how comfortable they always make me feel, I go back home feeling a little guilty for barging in. But I crave that so much sometimes. So I build my home out of people, which can be toxic at times. I build my home around habits, familiarity, some sort of security. So when friendships crumble, and relationships fail, I really feel homeless for a while. I guess you could call it a sense of belonging. I have friends that I can always depend on, and I'm glad I can go to them for various reasons. But I still find no sense of belonging anywhere. It's always a vacation, a short sleepover, but never home. It's always a welcome, not welcome back. A see you, not see you later. I build homes out of people only to find that they all have homes of their own, and I am not theirs. I belong to the sea, and I cannot wait to find comfort in the unknown. In this world, where is my pigeonhole?