As I walk into my bedroom, I stub my toe on my far too narrow doorway.

I lay my head down on my rock-hard pillow,
and attempt to get comfortable on my mattress that has far too many springs poking into my worn back.

The smell of rotting food from my kitchen engulfs the room, and I cant take my ear off of the constantly running toilet that I've been too lazy to unclog.

However, life hadn't always been like this.

We used to live in a villa, on a quiet coast in Greece.

Three people could enter the doorway to our bedroom at once.

Our pillow was made of goose feathers, and the mattress?
Springless.

A personal chef prepared our meals everyday, and the only sound around our home was that of the ocean below us.

So much has changed since she left, yet I could've sworn the house was the same.