A place to call your own...

"Never saying a line that isnt said from the heart, and accepting flowers, food, or anything provided there is a place to collect them and call my own."

Thats what I heard, remembered vaguely and re-assembled in my own words the day I realized that life is bigger than the sky...

I did not try to make a person or a place my own, I like to think I should remain detached, nevertheless I utilize what is around me, and get by just fine.

I wanted it or not, I do have a place I now call my own, not because I own it, or the world would know it as my room or my bed, but because its where almost supernaturally the time comes to a halt.

When I am here, whether staring outside the window into nothingness or sometimes the moon, or looking the walls or the roof, I am not bored, I just am.

I come here to sleep, and carry all my mental baggage of the day back to this place. And it does not mind, it does not say - why are you so lost? It does not ask me to go away or shut up. It does not mind the music too loud, or the display of disorganization around it, or when sometimes I dont come back at night - it does not call me to complain.

Yet, when I come back, there it is, just the same.

I always end up being here, time and again, so it must be mine.