Old bed. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

The floor was always clean, as defined by a young adult. A pile of magazines lies in the corner near the bed, but the rest of the area is fine. One bed, whose occupant now resides in the room next door, is used as a cushioned shelf. The bookshelf is overflowing, but nothing screams “Clean me now”.

My room at home hasn’t changed. The furniture rests in the same position from at least 5 years ago, and the walls, as always, are bare.

I don’t miss my room at home. I had outgrown it, even with my sister moving into the next room. As the only occupant I had more space than when I’m in my colleges shared dorm room, but it was time to go.

Trips home aren’t out of the question. I love seeing my family, but the room itself is not missed. It doesn’t feel like home anymore. The living room and kitchen still enjoy my company, but my old room is ignored.

It was a nice place to grow up. My twin sister and I had just enough space, but every child grows up, and bursts out of old things. My room is one of them. The door hasn’t completely closed, but it’s only open a jar. A dorm room fits me better now, but someday even that will be too small. The real stages of adulthood are coming. Doors are closing, but I want them too. Change is welcomed now. It’s time to experience it.

– Katelyn Avery

250 words