Right now, I'm laying in my old room at my parents' place. I'm not even laying on a proper bed, just a sleeping pad they've thrown on my old daybed frame. There is no other furniture in the room & nothing on the walls. It's really strange being in here once again. This was my room for over 12 years. It was the only place in the whole house that was truly mine. I wrote some of my first creative works in room. I talked & texted numerous boyfriends & crushes. I prayed fervently to a god I'd later realize doesn't exist. I cried myself to sleep more nights than I'd like to remember. I hurt myself, cut myself in this room in an attempt to make all the pain & depression go away. I read countless books in here, falling in love with each one. I cuddled with pets that have since passed away & have felt the loneliness when they are gone. I live my life in this room. It was mine & it experienced the best and worst of my life.
But it's no longer my room, not really anyway. My folks plan on turning it into a guest bedroom for when us kids come to visit. They're going to repaint over the baby blue I begged them to let me paint the walls. After that, it really won't be my room. It will only be memories, good & bad.
Love you.
Mean it.
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