Recently, I have had this epiphany.
Everything has a meaning and almost anything can be turned into something meaningful.
For instance, a house.
Houses are built for security and stability-a shell of something much deeper. They are a symbol of family and social life. They are boxes to hide secrets away from the world, and every house has at least one. None of them are perfectly infrastructured. There are stains in the carpet, cracks in the walls. Cobbwebs are in the nooks and crannies of some homes. Ants and termites find their way in through any opening. Even human error makes a house imperfect. There are unlevel shelves and doorways. The floors creak and hardwood chips away.
People are somewhat similar. The shell of a human being is only as deep as the bricks that cover the exterior of a home- skin deep. People decorate the surface with colors and shiny things that distract others from seeing who we really are. We hold things inside of us that we do not let out until someone opens a door to our soul- but rarely does that ever happen. When it does though... the someone that opens that door will step into a room where everything is clearly presented; for no one truly knows a person until they have entered the deepest dimensions of the soul; however, there are exceptions. People who are free spirited constantly open and close doors to their inner-being. I should know... I am one. We open our souls to new people, places, and ideas all of the time. It is the elite few of these "free-spirits" that keep the world alive- people who care about the simpler things in life.
So a house is only a house to someone who simply lives there to have a place to call home; but it could be so much more. A house could be the soul of a person, or where it all began for them. Love the place you're in because it shapes who you are, which will in the future create someone else... maybe someone you'd like to be. (:
