Many nights the stars were my blanket and leaves my bed. The sole of my feet kept on moving forward without a defined route, and yet I still look for this place around. There is not place like home , when home does not have a name. The lost feeling doesn't feel strange no more , but it just becomes another day . After so much traveling, there is not place to live. You start to compare places and people, as if it was possible to do so. This is an ever ending drug that we all take part of. Every street, every corner has a written story and one yet to be written by you.