Leaving is a strange concept. Everyone knows that it will eventually happen. But nothing could prepare me for the pain of actually going through with it.

I was numb at first, I think. Because I did not feel anything at all when I started packing up my possessions into cardboard boxes.

Then, it came time to clear off the closet door. And that’s when all of the nostalgia and sadness hit me.

I was about three photographs in, examining the pictures of me and my friends and family. Some were dated, others were not. But by the time I laid the third Polaroid into the tattered Converse shoe box, I felt a strange pang in my chest.

The feeling grew stronger with each picture I carefully peeled off of the wooden door. It built up and gathered in my core until it started clawing at my throat, begging to be released.

I could only hold my emotions back for a few minutes longer before they escaped my mouth in a strangled, strange noise. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anything like that come out of my mouth before.

But now that it is out there is no going back—I cannot hold the flood gates any longer.

I’m leaving. For good. I will most likely never see some of the people I’ve grown up with again. I’ll rarely see my family. I’ll be on my own and that is a terribly beautiful thing.

The first I thing I have always noticed about her room is the walls. They are painted a soothing shade of lavender. Although she is an adult, there are still a couple of children’s posters on the wall and a photograph of her, as a young child in a fluffy ballerina tutu.

“I love you.” I blurt out, shocking even myself at the sudden honesty. I have spent years lying to her—hiding my true feelings. I was too scared to ruin the friendship we had built.

“I love you too.” She giggles, rolling her eyes slightly at the sentiment.

“I don’t think you understand. I LOVE you. Like love love. Not friendship love…” I trail off, unable to meet her eyes.

“Oh…”

The silence is deafening. After a few seconds, my ears start ringing and they burn too. I’m positive my face is flushed pink from embarrassment. How could I be so stupid?!

“I just—you’re a great friend. I don’t want to ruin what we have.” She whispers, also unable to make eye contact with me. “I don’t feel that way about you.”

“Uh, haha, yeah of course you don’t! I was just wondering how you would react. I wasn’t being serious…” I stumble over my words, hoping my half-hearted explanation is enough—praying she cannot hear the disappointment in my tone. “Never mind. I need to go. My parents are expecting me for dinner.”

“Oh, alright. Have a nice night, then.” She responds. I reckon her face might be redder than mine.

“Yeah yeah, talk to you later.” I hastily stand and swing my bag over my shoulder. “Bye.”

As I exit her home and begin biking the path leading to mine—I cannot help but think that nothing between us will ever be the same again. I know that it won’t, actually. Our relationship will never ever feel how it used to feel.

I don’t believe I have ever regretted telling someone something more than I do right now.

Because the movies lie. Confessing your love to another will not lead to some magical adventure and a loving relationship. There were no fireworks or birds crowing with delight.

There was only silence…

The room was composed of various shades of green. The walls, for example, were a soothing shade of sage green. An arm chair stood in the corner, draped in a forest green velvet. Curtains the color of leaves on a lily plant framed the open window, billowing in the warm summer breeze.

A child sat on the pastel green linoleum, surveying the emerald parlor. She, herself, was dressed in a crisp, white sun dress—accentuating her golden brown skin. The child was the only thing in the room that was not some shade of green.

It made her stick out. She felt strange sitting alone in that parlor, dressed in white. She examined the pristine emerald velvet. Everything about the room seemed precise. Just as the last room she was in, except it was yellow.

The young child did not know why she had wandered into the colorful, perfect home. She wondered how the rooms could be in such excellent condition. Her mother had told her the house had been abandoned years ago. When her mother was just a girl, there had been an eccentric middle aged woman who lived here with her great grandmother.

The child’s curiosity had gotten the better of her. She wanted to see the forgotten home. However, now here, the child has realized that the green parlor was not forgotten at all. Someone or something had been looking after the house.

The young girl’s attention was pulled away from the velvet arm chair by a faint, almost indistinguishable noise. Yes! There it was again. The flutter of wings.

Her eyes surveyed the room until she spotted it—a small butterfly with delicate white wings. It had flown through the open window. The butterfly gracefully glided over to the child.

She held out her hand, half expecting the butterfly to disappear before her eyes. Instead, the butterfly landed on her finger and she realized it was not a butterfly at all!

“Hello, dear.” Despite being so small, the creatures voice was crystal clear.

“Hi.” The child breathes, her eyes sparkled with awe. “Are you a fairy?”

“I suppose you could say that.” The fairy said. “I came to see if you would join me for tea.”

“Tea?” The child asked. “I don’t think there’s a kettle here.”

“Just follow me, dear child.” The fairy suggested. With that, the fairy fluttered up and towards a mirror opposite of the window.

Enchanted, the child follows the fairy. She was surprised to see the fairy slip right through the glass as if it wasn’t there at all.

And so it was the child’s turn to approach the mirror. She cautiously extended her hand, pressing her fingers against the glass. She suddenly felt a cool breeze as her hand went through the glass. Then her arm and her shoulder. The rest of the child’s body followed.

She paused, observing her new surroundings. The mirror in the green parlor had led to a lush, ethereal forest. The flowers and the trees were vibrant and they seemed about fifty times larger than normal. That is, until, the child realized that the forest was not big—no, she was tiny. Just like fairy who had brought her here.

“Honey?” The fairy’s voice inquired.

The child turned her head in the direction of the sound and saw a quaint cottage made out of a mushroom. Outside, sat a table crafted from small sticks and grass.

“Honey would be lovely.”