It's starting to feel strange sleeping in my own bed because this doesn't feel like my bed anymore. This doesn't feel like my room anymore and this doesn't feel like my house anymore. I've been living with Mikal for these passed months that I can't even familiarize with my own home anymore. Maybe it's best this way. I would've imagined our family living here for...ever. Soon I'll have to drive by the corner of this house, of where we will soon used to live. And soon I'll have to see cars that aren't ours parked outside of the driveway. I'll probably even get to see how they decorate during Christmas. If they'll do that at all. They'll probably never sit on that porch like we did.
I love this house. I loved when we first moved in here, and how I listened to Depeche Mode during dusk while I chose which room was going to be mine. I remember the very moment I chose my room. I just got back from being a mallrat with a good friend of mine. Dad said we had to decide who was going to get which room. I walked into mine, sat down in the middle of it, looked out the window where the sky was gray and blue and dimming by the second. I sat there for several long and silent minutes. I didn't move. I didn't inspect the room. I just sat there in the middle with my legs crossed, looking out the window, and letting my thoughts wander through leaving an old life for a new one. And I remember breathing in the smell of the empty house. And as rarely as I find them, I remember clarity at its best. I remember contentment. And everything was alright. How can I ever claim another room to be mine?
House Mourning~
I love this house. I loved when we first moved in here, and how I listened to Depeche Mode during dusk while I chose which room was going to be mine. I remember the very moment I chose my room. I just got back from being a mallrat with a good friend of mine. Dad said we had to decide who was going to get which room. I walked into mine, sat down in the middle of it, looked out the window where the sky was gray and blue and dimming by the second. I sat there for several long and silent minutes. I didn't move. I didn't inspect the room. I just sat there in the middle with my legs crossed, looking out the window, and letting my thoughts wander through leaving an old life for a new one. And I remember breathing in the smell of the empty house. And as rarely as I find them, I remember clarity at its best. I remember contentment. And everything was alright. How can I ever claim another room to be mine?
House Mourning~
