I pick up my pencil...
And draw,
Gray curves,
And lines.
Flow across the page.
I feel at home in this unreal drawing. 
In this moment of silence.
I feel at peace and hope flows through the pencil,
Onto the paper. 
I fill in the spaces with colors,
Every color,
To be precise. 
I finish,
And step back. 
This piece of paper,
It is my home.
My comfort, 
Zone.
Of peace.

Human life cannot be thought of without the idea of a home. Humans, in their nature, exist inside a home. Before birth, they rest in comfort inside a home called the uterus. Since the moment they move out, they reside in the place they call home, and in the end, move to the eternal home called the tomb. The idea of home has allowed humans, which had roamed from place to place, to settle. It has protected humans from natural disasters and wild animals. It is the basis of all physical activity and relaxation that comes from sleep, rest, love from the family, and comfort. However, after Industrialization, the idea of "home" has lost the essential meaning at the core, and has become a means of accumulating wealth. Rather than a place of protection and rest, home has become a sort of destination for greed. While some people own multiple houses, some roam around without one from birth to death. Is the idea of a "home" the foundation for life, or is it merely an indicator of wealth? 

She was fourteen when she found it, she had dreams about this place. why hadn't she found it before she had drawn it many times before it looks the same as it hade in her dreams same as her drawings she took a deep breath and walked through the wooden door it smelt like freshly baked cookies and wet paint, she looked around her, big silver clock on the bright yellow walls just like she had dreamt. sky blue been bags set perfectly on the purple fuzzy rug