SEPTEMBER 25, 2021

Doesn’t feel like I’m leaving much

Everyone has a home, everyone has a crib from their first night of sleep, everyone has a blanket that they cuddled as a baby, everyone has a home that they grew up in. 42 Washingtonville Ave. is what you call that for me, it’s where My crib for my first night of sleep is, it’s where my blanket that I cuddled as a baby is, it’s where I grew up in. My best friend Trevor lives right next-door window to window our bedrooms are. Trevor‘s parents and my parents are good old friends, we got barbecues, shared babysitters, and a bus ride too. We went to school together since we were babies. We went to daycare way back when. I walk back into the empty house, where our used furniture and memory filled rooms used to be. I stand where our green couch should be, the one I hid extra dessert in. I walk into the kitchen where our chipped wooden table should be, pounded with frustration from 12 years of homework. I’m shocked out of my nostalgia when i here my mom calling for me. I guess this is goodbye. I walk out to the front door where I had my first kiss, and across the lawn where I learned back flips, and onto the street where I learned how to bike ride, and into the car, that used to drive as to town. I love this place too much. Too much, that it numbs me. So as I leave my life behind, It doesn’t feel like I’m leaving much.