This was my home once. Now, all I see is four walls and a roof.

I walk upon the floors stained by footprints of varying sizes.

This is the place I was born, the place I grew into the woman I am.

Nobody's home. Every room is bare. This house is empty.

Everyone has left; some to explore this world, others the next.

I am alone here, in this place I once belonged.

I can envision every photo that once hung upon these barren walls.

I make my way up the stairs, a familiar creak greeting my ears with each step.

I open the door to the place I once slept.

I see nothing and everything at the same time.

Every era of my childhood is encompassed within these golden walls, yet this room is completely abandoned.

I look up at the ceiling and remember the nights spent in imagination.

I glance down at the wooden floor and remember the days spent creating art.

Those days have ended. Now, I am alone.

There are no voices from downstairs, no dog barking in the backyard, no sisters fighting.

The key in my hand still fits the lock, but the house no longer feels like home.