As I walk along the road toward quarter life, I find myself passing by different walls and of fences. Some complete hides the house a few steps away, others barely serving the purpose of a fence but the house seems to be too far away from the street. There are walls made of iron, stone, bricks, marble and others shrubs. 
There are those who deny its existence or absence

There are those who have several and there are other who have none.

There are those who built it so near the house it will make you think you’re inside. There are those who build it so far, you can no longer see the house.

Some built it like a maze, others like a pathway.

As I walk the street of Quarter Life, one thing is for sure…

…I am outside.

I have to stop jumping over stone walls only to have a broken leg; pulverize brick walls just to ruin a beautiful yard; to look through iron fences looking like a prisoner of the outside; and to pass through shrubs to find out it was poison ivy.

I’m outside.

I have to stop. 

I have to find my home.

…because I’m sure I won’t be driven away, ignored, or trespassing.

Finally I can be inside.


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