my work/study area, a mishmash of odds and ends, a melange, a gallimaufry..... I'll miss it.

my dumbell, and the phone that doesn't work anymore (right under the curtain)

my shoes, which i leave anywhere that my feet happen to leave them

The time has finally come to move out.

I've gotten so attached to this room. It's my confidant, my friend, my fortress of solitude, my batcave.

Now as I'm stuffing my bags full of stuff I didn't know I still had (oh, so that's where my other sock was! etc.)

I don't know how you can describe the feeling of packing, it's like systematically deconstructing your identity, without realising it, my room has become an extension of personality, a part of how i define myself.

Restoring my room to its pristine state is like tearing down part of my life. I just can't continue writing.

This post is dedicated to the memory of my room, may you never have to be neat again.