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Feb 2018
Some would say it was just a house, I saw it differently, it was my childhood. The place I would go and never feel misunderstood.
The place that developed the woman I'm going to be in my adulthood. There was a memory in every single object. From the dusty floors to the master bedroom. The room was where my grandma snored the loudest. The floors were where I stood the proudest. I've collected all my memories, from the accessories I used to play dress up, to the times I ran around the house acting like a grown up. I gathered all the memories and put it in a box, stored them away, hidden under the ground and rocks.
Written by
Jet  F
(F)   
70
 
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