Goodbyes
goodbyes
I have never been good with goodbyes.
I have taken down the flag that once hung over the window. The wardrobe is empty, and the desk is void of its usual clutter. Where there once grew a tiny windowsill garden is now a bare space. There are no dirty socks on the floor, and no textbooks in the bookshelf. Where personality once adorned the space that I once called home, it is as bare as the day I arrived.
And I cry as I walk the corridor one last time, keys in one hand and a suitcase in the other.
I have never been good with goodbyes.
I have taken down the flag that once hung over the window. The wardrobe is empty, and the desk is void of its usual clutter. Where there once grew a tiny windowsill garden is now a bare space. There are no dirty socks on the floor, and no textbooks in the bookshelf. Where personality once adorned the space that I once called home, it is as bare as the day I arrived.
And I cry as I walk the corridor one last time, keys in one hand and a suitcase in the other.
I have never been good with goodbyes.