I used to hate my room,

used to hate being in it…

It never felt very me. Never felt my own? So, like any other rational teenager… I stayed away. I came in here to get clothes… sleep, sometimes..

Now I love it. I find myself gravitating towards my room whenever I got home.. In fact, it is home. This room is my home. I’ve made it my own and I’ve created something that is entirely mine. So makeshift. but so real. I feel myself, I feel more alive than anywhere else… It’s nice. To have a place to call your own.