We could easily find ourselves falling in love for things unfamiliar. We think it's beautiful, our hearts taken away. But like travelers journeying to a new city, after some time, we get used to what it's like - not as pretty as we first arrived.

And it is in the nature of man to crave something beautiful and extraordinary, yet we still come back to where we have all began. To our home. Very familiar. Even uninteresting. But the solace it gives, no other place could cater. We come home bleary after toil - partly because of the stories we are to tell, and partly because we know it will always promptly accept us. It's the only place that whispers to our hearts, ever so gingerly inviting us to return. Patiently, patiently it waits for us to come back. To come home. Back to its arms, back to its warmth. Moreover, you long for it just as how you long for a lover's embrace - its security and reassurance.

*I may not be your only love through out future's time, but I wish I am your home.