The breeze rushed passed me, blowing my hair violently to the side as I stared. I looked out at the place I called home for so so long. A place I would now leave.

I admired the crumbling wood swing set, one swing somehow lower than the other. The ropes holding the rotten seats up were fraying. Each tiny strand breaking brought the set closer to death. I remembered standing on the swings for the first time. The wood creaking strangely underneath me, the rope straining. I remember when I first tried jumping off the set. It didn’t end well. I ended up in a berry bush with pricks in my arms and blood flowing down my legs. But it still held a life of good memories.

I then looked to the leaning house. While it was technically the home I lived in for the past years, the whole property was what completed the mini world. The walls were painted a dirty baby blue with an offset yellow roof. It was a strange color choice but it was home. The door was wood with beautiful carvings that painted a picture even without a splash of color. The indents in the rusty brown told enough of a story.

I looked to the circle of trees we once built a fort around. My mom had made us lunch and just watched in silence as we ran around pilling sticks up like walls. We built a gate and windows. It had many problems with layers of holes but it was enough.

Once a storm tore it down, all that was left was the trees, left in their original spot. My family spent two days rebuilding the fort. We got to build a memory with our newest edition that wasn’t present for the first build. It was home.

This was the last time I would see the first home I built. The first house I loved. Maybe I’d come visit, maybe I’ll see it again. They’re no words to describe my love for this home. So I’ll leave any words I have unsaid.