Walking up to the two story, faded bright yellow house in the corner seemingly too snug it was too tug of a fit for its own good. Between the neighboring grey, 1 story house on the right and the blue, two story house on the right side surrounding it. The driveway which was able to fit two cars was about the length of two cars as well. It is cramped though. The left of the driveway is filled with a modern american muscle made by dodge. The right, even more packed together is filled with a red F-150. The center of the driveway, there’s the small split down the middle; the narrow area could fit about the size of a large man.

That’s how it usually was at least. But however, now there is neither car there and just my own maroon jeep patriot filling the middle of the driveway. Whilst the engine is humming with the noise of it running,  It’s trunk is opened. Walking into the house and onto the seemingly dead, open, quiet space, there’s an eeriness that follows along with it. The house that seemed to bring a unique kind of welcoming is now gone. The paint is now grey and very simplistic colors and shades of white and grey are filling the walls. . There’s a fireplace in the middle of the left side of the entrance. At the entrance still, there’s the blank space with small, scratched, indent marks into the dark wood ground where a couch used to be set. Walking to the left, comes the staircase leading to the second floor of the household.

In the past, the carpet on those stairs were marshmallow. Now however, they are a shade of grey that is in between white and black. It is a true grey. There, in that stairwell however, there have been so many untold arguments, laughs, but more importantly, memories. There is a white wooden door with a certain level of ominousness that a regular house door shouldn’t have. Walking up those carpeted stairs up to the door from the stairs seemed humbling almost.

Inside that door, was a window with a look-out that had a view of the entire neighborhood. There was  On the left of the window, there was a massive empty space as the room had nothing but three bags of about equal size; my clothes. One is a duffel, the other two however, are backpacks. Taking all of those in a single trip by having one backpack on my stomach, one on my back, and the duffle swung across the shoulder was a difficult task to accomplish because of how little stability I had on my feet with the weight of the bags.

Then, just once more before leaving the room, seeing out the window that looks onto the neighborhood and having the entire view of the whole neighborhood. Looking at the cherry tree that is in the middle of my front yard, the house that my childhood best friend used to live at before he moved away, the pond with a mother duck and 4 smaller, baby ducks, and my Jeep . The engine still humming at the same pace at which I left it sitting by itself, waiting to go leave the house one more time. Picking up those bags to take them to my car should not have been such the struggle it was. It was a struggle not because the bags were heavy. But because of the fact that I won’t see these walls again. I tell myself not to worry because I leave this house every day. I have done this hundreds of times. The only difference this time is that there will be no return trip back.