Home is where the heart is, so they say. But home to me is a place surrounded by strangers. I build my walls so diligently, a fortress to rebound such reality. But the reality is that this place is not a home. I don't know where all the years went. It seemed like the more I grew, the less I knew. We've been wanting to grow up since we were young, nothing changed as we did. And it wasn't until we were crawled up by the corner of our rooms', drunk and high in different states, that we realized age is just a number. You only grow older and if you're lucky, maybe a little wiser. These walls know me better than anybody under this roof. So much so that my heart has perhaps grown as concrete as these walls always have been. How ironic it is that we are able to feel so heavy and yet so damn empty, bursting with emotions and yet so cold. Perhaps this is the paradox of life - The Absurd. The conflict between our tendency to seek inherent value and meaning in life and our inability to find any. I guess that would explain our belief in a higher, spiritual power, one that would give meaning to our lives, one that would ultimately give the answers to everything. But is that why then, that we even believe in God? So that we can deny ourselves the terms of contradiction between humanity and the universe, thus feel appeased that we don't have to face this hell on Earth and make sense of it. Because God will? The only true meaning of life in my opinion, is the meaning we give to it. I wish that conclusion helped, but hey, I'm not God.