You know what’s weird about staying in your old room? The fact that it no longer feels like your room, but that you can still make it just as messy as it was when you were a kid.
This is really the first time when I’ve “come home.” I’ve always lived close enough to still be there whenever I wanted. But now that I live out-of-state, I’m visiting home. But it’s not visiting; it’s not a vacation. It is walking into a house that feels exactly the same and then staying in a room that feels totally different.
I still know which steps to skip so the stairs don’t squeak, I can sit in the same chair on the same porch and read like I used to. Hell, there’s even CDs of mine still hidden in the bathroom cabinet ( I looked, I had mediocre taste in music). But, I don’t know which shelf to put the bowls on in the cupboard.
But, it’s home, and it feels so good to be here.