There is something about waking up in a place...a place that you call home. This place is more than just a place...it is home. You can never really leave it. It becomes a part of you; and one day, you too will become a part of it. It is different there. The air itself breathes easier. This place is more than just a place. It is an identity. Your tears have soaked its ground...your sweat and blood too. It has a soul there, and everything sings in harmony with yours. It has told you its secrets...and it has witnessed yours. You have aged together. The thing is you can never really leave it no matter how hard you try. It is within you and everyone else that calls that place home. You see, it owns you...and you own it. Because it is really not the place that matters. It is the little pieces of you that are still living there from years past. The same magical pieces that awake your mind each morning with visions of summer night sunsets and firefly dances, sounds of children's laughter at homecomings and the haunting song of the late night train, and scents of breakfast being cooked by those of generations before you. Those undying pieces of you...those are called memories...priceless memories.