The sun shines through the open windows and its rays illuminate the big, ominous boxes resting on the hardwood floor. The windows no longer have their treatments, no more flowing curtains or stiff blinds to block out the sun. The room is bright, too bright, but it is also empty.

            I walk through this place that has been my home for my entire life. Now nothing more than a mere shell of what it once was.  I start in the kitchen where the windows let in the sunlight. I stare at the oven; one of the only furnishings left in the entire house. An oven that has cooked countless Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners. I can practically smell freshly baked chocolate chip cookies whose scent still lingers in the walls.

            I wander down the hall that leads me to the family room.  The room feels so empty without anything in it, like a treehouse that has long been forgotten.  I stare at the spot where the couch sat; reminiscing on the hours spent there watching TV, talking with family and friends, and lying sick. I turn around, so now I face the fireplace, where our Christmas stockings used to hang. I sigh, and once again I am on the move.

            I climb up the stairs which groan under my feet. I make my way to my room. The light shines through the window and reflects harshly against the stark white walls. Walls that were a lovely shade of lavender but had to be changed, to help the house sell better.  I turn slowly in the center of the room, gazing where my bookshelf stood, and the spot on the carpet where I burned a hole with my hair dryer when I was five. A warm tear trickles down my face as I know I will have to leave this place that has been my haven for so long.

            When I finally make my way down the stairs all the boxes are gone, they are loaded onto the truck that will bring them to their new home. I glance right, my eyes lingering on the place where the Christmas tree would stand. Then I glance left, my eyes longing for the familiar sight of the dining room table. I slowly take a breath and then I step forward and walk outside. I turn to take in my home for one last time. The shingles sparkle like coal in sunlight and the bushes are covered in fall leaves. The black door stands out harshly against the light grey siding that looks nearly white in the sun. I turn once again and now the house is to my back. I walk to the open car door. The car starts to move, and I see my home for the last time as the car turns the corner.