The house will be sold.

I struggle to do something – anything – to keep a tangible piece of it with me.

Quiet, cozy, warm, content…this place is so comfortable.
Even though most of my things are no longer here,
the bedroom that was once mine no longer is,
I can see the traces of it here: the past.

It’s in the walls,
the layout,
the smells,
the sounds,
It’s in the quality of light.

This place holds so much of my history;
and now, with the knowledge that it will be taken from me in two months,
suddenly, I am no longer here – but there.

Standing inside the house, I slip into memories of the past.

But what is it to remember?
To hold a piece of time in your mind and assume that you have stored it correctly?
Memory is fleeting and blurred,
it’s soft and opaque and impossible to store accurately.

As I stood in my former home, reminiscing,
I was overcome with a new realization;
In that instant I was present in a new memory.

A blurry recollection of a moment that once was.