I lived a thousand lives in this room, for better and for worse. The carpet, still not replaced, absorbed my tears, shower water, and spilled drinks, from my time as a toddler to my adulthood. There was always a distinct smell: once of paint, then of rain and clean air, now of mustiness and dust. I remember life’s happenings through the posters on the walls. The posters that I’m here to take down because the house is being sold to someone who will never knew all the things I did, the thoughts I thought, the tears I cried and the celebrations I had in this space. Someone who might make this room into an office, or something worse.

I feel like I’m betraying an old friend.