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Photographs of a girl I hardly know.
Letters in my writing, written lifetimes ago.
Posters with their edges slightly torn.
Teddy bears and the blanket I have used since I was born.
A thousand little trinkets collected over time.
Each of them is a memory. All of them are mine.
And now it's up to the papers to sort themselves apart.
They know I cannot read them because each of them will break my heart.
I've lived in this house for eighteen years.
Eighteen years of laughter, and there's no place so dear.
All that time has passed in just a blink.
Then it just goes on; it never stops to think.
Suddenly I feel like such a little girl.
Just across the town seems like just across the world.
And now it's up to the boxes to pack themselves away.
They don't know where they're going, but they know they cannot stay.
The new apartment's slightly cold.
On brand new floors and walls, my things look dusty and old.
The cupboards and the closets all are bare.
I've got a bed tray for a table, and two pillows for chairs.
Talking to my roommate we wonder if it's fake.
How did we get here? Was it a mistake?
We're frightened and excited out here on our own,
And now when we come back here, we're coming back home.
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