Home is...

I’m at home.

After all those stupid unfortunate events, I could reach my home afterall.

Home where I spent most of my time as a high-schooler.

Home where my parent and my littler brother is.

Home.

Home sweet home.

Is it?

Some say that “home is where the (figurative) heart is”.

I agree. As a college student who lived not-so faraway from a place where he spent most of his time as a high-schooler, I agree.

But then, time changes.

(Sometimes) I feel weird. Feel weird to this place, to this so-called home.

At my home, I miss my that-place-where-I-stay-in-not-so-faraway-place.

At that place, I miss my home.

Funny. But that’s what I feel.

Then, what’s home for me?

Some place that I’ll miss but couldn’t live in it?

Utopia?

Am I overexaggerating this thing?

Maybe. I guess.

So... home, eh?

"Rubber"

People hate me, people love me.
People only love the new me, the unused one. The tight one.
People hate the old me, the used one. The stretched one.

People hate me, people love me.
People only look for the new me, the unused one. The tight one.
People ignore the old me, the used one. The stretched one.

People hate me, people love me.
People only admire the new me, the unused one. The tight one.
People dissapointed at the old me, the used one. The stretched one.

People hate me, people love me.
People pay high for the new me, the unused one. The tight one.
People pay low for the old me, the used one. The stretched one.

People hate me, people love me.
People use me, people throw me.

People hate me, people love me.
The used one, the unused one.
The stretched one, the tight one.

People hate me, people love me.