Home.

"She used to always fantasize about her future with me. I always found it so strange when she would talk about it because she always said it's what she feared the most--but it was her, and she was fearless. The only thing she would ever talk about and describe was a house, that's it, nothing else but some house. The house she explained in her mind was so beautiful; she painted it with having elegant arch ways and sharp edges. With shudders that graced the house's deep green coat and windows that made everything feel bright and open. Honestly, I always wondered if she was describing me. She built it up and tore it down so many times but it never changed. I told her that once, when she was on a rampage about how meaningless the future was and how no one believed in ghosts so no one believed in her, I told her I was getting tired of hearing about the same old house. I told her that it never changed, and how it never would no matter how many times she tried. I told her that it was never going to be real and that it was all in her head, and when I said that she just laughed in my face and got up and left. I called her house that night and her parents told me that she packed all her bags and walked out the door without saying why she was leaving or where she was going. She was gone. I tried calling her cell phone every night for 3 weeks straight. One night I guess she finally got fed up and she answered. I told her to come home and she said, "You don't get it, and you never did. The house had always changed and it never stayed the same. It was the only thing that made me want to stay just so, one day, I could see that house materialize. Now, I have torn it down permanently. What's the point of dreaming about something that 'will never be real and is all in my head' right? Just like you said. And you, you are just a boy. You are made of flesh, and bones, and blood and you will always stay the same." Then she hung up. That was the last thing she had ever said to me; I haven't heard from her since."