"'Cause I feel your love has always been empty / Just a way to sink your teeth into me / But the truth is we built our house in a tree / We built the roads we walk upon." This quote from the song "Everyone's Safe in the Treehouse" by I See Stars gave me some things to think and reminisce about.

What is it that makes childhoods great? It's the purity of it all, the natural hunger for excitement and community that we somehow lose as we get older. And the perfect symbol for that community is, I believe, a treehouse.

Here's why.

1. Treehouses are both natural and manmade.

Yes, that description can apply to many things (like normal houses, candles, medicines), but it holds a special depth on the topic of treehouses. It's the mixture of standard wood given almost no embellishments with a simple-minded idea that short-time life could exist there. Beautiful.

2. Treehouses are safe.

They are above the struggles of the world below. They keep you from having to deal with the stresses of life. If you're running from a dog, you're safe. If you're running from your sibling, you're safe (as long as you stored a Nerf gun up there). If you're running from your parents, you're safe (since they're probably too big to get up the ladder).

3. Treehouses are symbols.

They're symbols of hope, history, hard work, and the kind of happiness that only a child can find. They symbolize the world in its entirety--its exclusivity regarding who can fully participate in it, its weathered, used-up vibe, its need of proper care yet neglect by those that appreciate it the most.

4. Treehouses are neglected with time.

Just like we neglect our ideals--our so-called 'childish' attempts to make ourselves happy--so also do we neglect their physical manifestations. Saying goodbye to friends for the sake of growing up and leaving the place you're from just to chase opportunities are understandable, but depressing. The fact that neglect is a necessity, that everything will be forgotten by someone and that we have all forgotten something that once meant the world to us, like a house in a tree, hurts me to my core.

My grandfather who raised me from early childhood is currently constructing a treehouse in his backyard for my little brother, my niece, and, yes, myself. As I listen to the whirring of the drill and the scraping of the saw, I am reminded why I'm here in the first place. It's to build a community with other lost souls, to take a look into our collective self and try to make sense of our surroundings. Good fences may make good neighbors, but I'd much prefer a good ladder that makes some genuine relationships.