home, for me, is pieced together from different memories, all occurring so far from each other. in the same home that was my teenage home, my little siblings are now making brand new memories that will become their childhood memories of home. it makes me wonder if they’ll think about my memories and how they happened in different homes? i wonder if they will ever know about the little yellow house i lived in with the red door that matched my best friend’s, or how long mine and my brothers’ drive to school used to be. i wonder what home will mean to them, and i hope that they remember me staying there too.
