Unrecognisable
And suddenly I feel sick about the idea of going back home and for the first time in my life, I really don't want to leave home all over again. I have a new life on the other side of the country but all of my friends are right here and I'm not sure if want to be relatively alone again. My room has been cleaned up in my absence and it looks like a model room in ikea and I'm not sure how to feel about the fact that it doesn't even look lived in. It's too pristine and it feels like my parents had erased the traces of my whereabouts around my room, and the crazy notion that not one thing indicates that my DNA has come into contact with any of my things.
My book case has changed, above all. Things are in the wrong order and there's no dust that has settled. It's almost as if my books hadn't nearly been blanketed by dust as a form of missing my particular touch.
I've been edited out of the picture in my room, it seems.
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