From ThoughtCatalog “your parent’s new home”

And how can that be? Because you’ve never left smudged fingerprints on the walls, and you’ve never hidden a report card in your pillowcase, and you’ve never sat in the driveway waiting for some boy to pick you up, some boy whose name you’ll forget in five years. You’ve never slammed any of these freshly-painted doors, never screamed or cried or muttered I hate you I hate you I hate you under your breath knowing no one will hear you while secretly hoping someone does.

You’ve never thrown a baseball through the window and you’ve never stolen pulls from a cigarette in your bedroom, you don’t even have a bedroom here. You’ve never woken up in the middle of the night for a snack and turned on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries to watch while you were eating it, and you’ve never become so afraid during that hour that you sat upright in the eat-in kitchen until the sun rose, you’ve never done that here. You’ve never snuck out and you’ve never snuck in because you can come and go as you please, you’re a guest now. This isn’t your home, but it is theirs.

an interesting feeling.


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