In My Own Little Corner

The sharp, focused lighting overhead that never quite hits the right spot. The white down comforter that is freezing to the touch. The out-of-place black office chair that makes a 360 degree turn, sweeping over every inch of the slightly curved walls. The framed black and white amateur photographs. The dusty trophies and plaques that keep to their place on the high shelf. The tiny mirrored closet doors that have held faces of contemplation, laughter, and morning routines.

At first sight, the past seven years of my life drown me with emotion. Meaningful rooms and places have a way of doing that to me. No matter how many times I experience that “back home after so long” feeling, the nostalgic strength of it never fades. My bedroom, despite being stripped of the clutter of everyday life, holds frozen moments of time in every nook and cranny.

I can see vividly the creaky spot on the floor where I jumped up and down in joy over a text from a boy. The railings on the bed where my best friends and I would swing our legs over the edge and laugh until our stomaches hurt. The corner of my desk where my cat would lounge as I worked tirelessly on summer school homework. Every moment fights for a spot in my memories, bringing forward a quiet giggle or knowing grimace each time I walk into the room, suitcase in hand.

The more I am forced into adulthood, the less I come home and have moments like these. The memories are becoming old, leaving more of a pit in my stomach when I realize how many years have gone by and how far away I am moving from days of high school heartbreak and best friend pacts. The “For Sale” sign out front means that I could soon lose this last material piece of my past. Though the future is thrilling, the creep into my 20’s has made nostalgia a good friend. So now I attempt to greet it with a small smile and a truce and settle into the down comforter, listening to the sounds of home and family that I know will come along no matter where home is.

-Bri