Point of Origin

One room, countless memories. Your childhood bedroom, a place where you spent most of your forming years unfolds in front of you as open the door. It has been only a few months since the last time you visited your parents, but many more years since the time you called this room Home. It barely changed, though. The room is still as if you just left it. There is your old Gameboy on the bed and console set under the TV. Even your old collectible cards are still spread across the floor just as if you left yesterday. You slowly sit on your bed, instantly enveloped in a mixture of bittersweet memories of growing up and strange atmosphere of an unoccupied place. It is so peaceful here, almost as if time does not exist. You sit, and listen. Listen to the echoes of memories, of things that took place in this room. All your sleepovers, game nights, all the joys and sorrows of a millennial child. You spend a few minutes reminiscing all of that, enjoying the moment. Then you stand up and leave. As the door closes behind you, the room does not change. How could it, it's all in the past.