"If I could walk around I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory,
From the house that, built me." - Miranda Lambert

To my childhood home,

As I prepare to pack all my stuff for my second year of school, I can't help but be reminded of filling boxes in my childhood bedroom as we got ready to make the move from one house to another. I remember being angry and filled to the brim with sadness about leaving behind the only home I'd ever known. That's not to say I don't love the home I'm in now, I do. But there's just something about the first home you remember.

There aren't many memories that make me smile as wide as the ones that took place within your walls. Nights spent staying up way later than I should have, eating popcorn and dancing around the basement with my cousin. Running through the front yard, no-doubt barefoot, playing with anyone and everyone who was outside at the time. The summer night when it rained so hard that many yards on the street flooded and we took it upon ourselves to get rafts and float down them like they were rivers.

You were the color of the sun. No other house on the street was the same color.

You were surrounded by nature. Woods, a creek, and plenty of space to play pretend for hours. There was never much time for boredom.

I look back on the years spent here with such fondness and nostalgia that it sometimes brings me to tears, even though life wasn't always smiles and rainbows. Your four walls held me up through my parents divorce. My own room became the safest place when the woes of adolescence weighed heavily on my shoulders.

I grew up in the bedroom on the far left. The walls painted with stars and moons, watching over me every night. That room saw tears, gut-busting laughter, and more posters taped to it's walls than I can count. It survived slammed doors, lost teeth, and too many sleepless nights.

It was here, in this very house, that I learned of strength. Of love. Of loss.

On the small back patio, I said my goodbyes to the first dog I'd ever had to put down. It was also where I said hello to so many other wonderful pets over the years. In the play house in the backyard I made up hundreds of stories, drew hundreds of pictures, and played make believe until the sun went down. There are scuffs and dents scattered throughout the house and each one details an accident, a moment of anger, or simply a clumsy misstep that I guarantee hurt us more than it hurt the walls. Friendships were formed, memories made, and childhood dreams came true, all within a couple thousand square feet.

Times were much easier then, before school became tough and life in general became stressful. You were built to be a house, but you became a home with the memories and love that took place inside you.

Thank you, for keeping me safe, warm, and welcome all throughout my childhood. Thank you for being the setting of someone my most treasured moments. Thank you for being able to endure all of the tantrums, messes, and chaos that we inflicted. I spent my most vulnerable years here. I changed in so many ways from the time I arrived to the time I switched off the light in my bedroom for the very last time.

You truly were the house that built me.