As I entered through the bright white door, which was scratched and bruised from excessive use, I was overcome with light and warmth. The door introduced empty gray walls, a blank canvas left for the future. To my left, the white dinged- up desk was hugged by two mint cabinets; each drawer filled with secrets and memories. I dimmed the nearly blinding overhead hanging lights with the touch of a button. The navy chair slid ever so smoothly under the opening of the desk as I stood up and turned around. There, lay the bed, adorned with a new plain white comforter, no matching pillows in sight. Under the squeaky bedspring my mattress lay upon, was a soft, comforting shag carpet, some strands of fabric going one way, others going the opposite, and some, just misplaced. Ahead, a three bay window projected sunshine. Outside these windows, the sun had been dodging approaching clouds, sometimes being caught, almost like a game of tag, eventually being set free from the darkness stricken upon it earlier. The shelves beside these windows were once again painted white, complimenting the different shades of gray meticulously painted on the walls, one stroke at a time. Extremely organized clutter seemed to be scattered on the shelves, including a small tile that prominently read Love and War. No light was emitted from the unlit candles that crowded the top of the shelves, but still a sense of warmth and comfort radiated from each one in their own way. The matching shelves opposite the previous were filled once again. On these shelves was an obvious sense of organization being attempted, but ultimately failing. Stacks of pictures filled the corners, but seemed to be purposely hidden. Organized almost as if, even though they were stored away, they could easily decide to reappear. Books filled the smallest part of the shelf, only few making the cut; only the few that spoke to me. These books seem to be so easily remembered and so hard to forget, each helping and hindering me in their own way. Every book teaching me a new lesson on each upcoming page. This pair of shelves, unlike the other, changed with the season or holiday. One thing that seemed to always remain was the glass replica of the Eifel tower, standing strong without fear of breaking so easily, regardless of it’s known fragile characteristics. Life and love splattered throughout the room, leaving pain and heartache without a trace. Two matching chairs were tossed to the corners of the cave, where black meets white, or gray meets grayer. Each chair, in a way, creating their own identity. One chair overflows with pillows of all different colors and textures. The opposite, leaning back with a single green pillow and mint throw carefully placed but obviously worn and used often. Somehow this large room was filled to capacity with so many delicate details. Facing the bed was a wall of two lone doors, Door A and Door B. These doors were filled with lies and nightmares that haunt on a daily basis, which were skillfully trying to be closed out by the doors rarely being opened so entry or exiting was never possible. Every ounce of wasted space was left to be determined on how to be filled in the near future. If you listened closely enough, the walls still played faint sounds of old music. Screams that were loud at the time, now sounded distant, being covered by new chatter and laughter, which played louder than anything else in the room. Exiting the room no emotions ran free, no recollection of the past; only focus on entering the future.