This was home. My parents allowed me to pierce the walls with tacks so that I could put pictures up. In all of the other apartments, I'd have to use tape- "we're moving soon and we don't want to have to fix the walls," they'd say. This place has felt my presence. The carpet is worn from our furniture, and the window has been replaced as a result of my anger. This isn't the first time that I've had to leave home, and this is definitely the shortest distance that I have ever gone. I have a second home now anyway, on campus, where I live with 52 amazing UCI students, but that doesn't stop me from being nostalgic tonight. My heart is heavy with memories, and the floor is packed with boxes.
Here's to moving on. Again.