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An open letter to a home that doesn’t fit

You’ve always been a fluid thing. Shifting around my family and me, letting us evolve together. You were never just a shared space, but an embodiment of our lives together. I always felt like you allowed us to do more than coexist. You held the toys that trailed my little brother everywhere he went. You held the pictures full of genuine smiles and laughter over jokes we no longer remember the punchlines to. You kept the secrets my sisters and I shared growing up. You gave us a place for family dinners and impromptu movie nights. Most of all, you gave us room to grow.

I remember when you began to hold my things in boxes instead of drawers. You watched as my brother’s interests spread across our shared room like vines. You saw the space where my bookshelf used to sit be given away to a toy box. You watched my hair products disappear from the bathroom. You watched my books that used to be spread throughout the house be packed away into boxes.

Coming back to you was like sinking into a warm bath. My heart was full again, you still gave me a space to be my most authentic self. And yet I felt a bit like I was in someone else’s bathroom. I know that you aren’t a physical space, you’ve always changed with us. As soon as we sat down to dinner as a family you surrounded us. However, I don’t think I realized just how much I relied on the parts of you I could touch. You still hold more of my heart than anything else, but I don’t know if the rest of me fits anymore.

My family has always had to deal with change, and I’ve always struggled with it the most. I know that this is just the start of the changes I have to go through without them by my side.

I just hope that you still make room for me when I need it.

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