My parents are laughing together in their room across the hall. The air is still and silent so the only sounds I hear are the buzzing of dimmer switches mixed in with the muffle of cars passing by on their way to work, what is it people say about Monday mornings? I drink my slightly cold coffee and stare at my reflection, this is my last day waking up in this house, I’ve spent 8 years here. My heart beats faster for the loss of a place that’s played home to so many memories, beautiful memories, awful memories, memories that moulded me and brought me here. I cried in the room upstairs when they turned my best friends life support off, I cried when I had my heart broken by my first love. I had an abortion here and sat screaming while my mother held my hand, I harmed myself, I hated myself. I fell in love here for the first time, I truly got to know my parents for the fantastic humans that they are, I grew beyond any expectations I had for myself, I battled and learnt to deal with depression here, I loved three dogs and learnt to play the piano here. I’ve stayed up til 4am talking to my dad in the kitchen and I’ve spent my summers swimming in the garden. It’s not all been a dream but I wouldn’t change a day of it.