For the first time in nearly a year, I stood in the room where I had spent my earliest days. My old little wooded bedroom. It felt so strange and so spooky as if it was just yesterday i had been here.
If it’s true that we leave a part of ourselves, in every place we ever spent our lives in then imagine the ghosts that might dwell in the space where I spent my childhood? Look! - There’s me, getting up in the morning all sulky and bleary-eyed, making excuses for not going to school, reading about Nancy Drew's huge crush on Ned, post-its' gooey marks on the wall - their own lil 'forget me nots', stickers lining my mirrior doing their best to hold onto the past, my favourite books in a neat little row on the bookshelf just yonder and my brothers barging in on my birthday every year, until now!
I hadn’t been to my place in over 6 months and I hadn’t even thought about it, but when I stood in it today, it felt as if nothing had changed, which seemed wierd and sentimental as I know, for everything has changed.
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