"What is Home?" Cried out one soul,
Embarking on a journey for truth, if there is such a thing...
No two have e'er matched in definition.
Finally inside she looked and found what she had craved.
Home can only be -- as one's philosophy -- a dearly personal thing.
While looking deep inside herself she seemed more to open her eyes
than to close them to the outside world.
Hiding there in the corners of consciousness...
a mansion of her past. It holds the ends of her red strings.
Though rooms are always adding on, they never really leave.
just as all those bright red strings are forever tied and impossible to cut.
What can be in one's mind that one cannot divulge?
Only everything. Only nothing.
But more of the former.
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