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World isn’t always round you see 
I have one, small though,
This world might be a bit quite but it hold a million stories
It’s made up with cement, bricks, people and memories. 
This world that I own
This place I call my home. 

This is where I have it all 
Love. Care. Life. 
A place not where I’m afraid to fall 
From the first door to the last window 
I see myself in every corner
Dancing, running, giggling or just playing with some shadow

It had known my every shade 
From darkest to happiest
From deepest to craziest

The pillows here have known my fears 
For those tears of mine they’ve seen. 
The blanket has known the warmth I need 
And the door knows the time I’m in. 
The TV has known the mood swings I have 
And the lights have seen the nights I’ve stayed up.
The plates know the things I eat and 
And the walls recall the tables I used to repeat. 

There are silly narratives I’ve built 
And creamy dreams I’ve seen
Because there was someone whom I knew was willing to be in.
Also there are those vases I’ve broken 
And tantrums I’ve thrown 
Because it is the only place I get solitude 
Everywhere else I’m just alone.

The peace, the tranquility and the purity of everything that I feel here isn’t easy to find
It’s with home that I shall always have something for to look behind. 

But the climax hits where,
We grow up and things grow old 
And some day we leave them behind 
To travel to a different world. 
.
.
.
But I know I shall come back once I’m contended of having seen the other world and I would be reciting these lines by her

“I have travelled on several unnamed roads
Made this world my own
But after everywhere I’ve been
I know I’m happiest when I’m home.”

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