You have spent your life calling one place home. You know exactly which stair creaks in the middle, understand the sounds the garage makes and can find a fork blind folded. Its your house, the one you grew up in, the one where you first learned to walk, to ride a bike, to cook. Where you were taught to fold laundry and how to get a floor actually clean, and where you got in trouble the first time you threw a party. You felt safe and excited and welcomed back after 4 years spent away in shitty dorm rooms.
Little things have changed; you panicked when you came home from college one break and saw that the coffee pot you grew up with was replaced, along with the paint, the counter tops...pretty much everything. But your house is still your house.
Now you are getting your first, real, grown up apartment.
And your house isn't really your house anymore.
You stare at the paint and run your hands across the wall, something you were always told to stop doing but never would. The banister you can no longer slide down is the thing you have touched more then anything in your whole life. The nickel your best friend put on your window sill nearly 8 years ago is still in the exact same stop, a mark of your friendship.
Your room is still the green you painted it when you were 12 and just moving into your own room. You peeled the fairies all the walls in high school but you saved one somewhere, amongst your books piled across the white book shelves. You painted the walls with different acrylic paint during some drunken nights when your wandering mind could not let you sleep.
And it will always be your house. But.....it also won't.
Your childhood room will remain in your childhood, where first crushes, AIM fights and polly pockets play dates lasted well into after bedtime hours. Now when you talk about your room, it will in an apartment, looking out into the branches of a tree from the third floor. Memories here will be of you and your boyfriend, not you and your parents sharing the living room to watch NCIS every Tuesday.
This place will be all your own, and it is terrifying to have that responsibility.
At least you get to decorate the way you want, and you find out you can even paint and are dying to make the kitchen yellow...like your kitchen at home, well your other home.
Because yes you are moving out, and yes, this apartment is yours, and yes, this new apartment will slowly but surly become your cozy home, with books littering the same white bookshelves that hold your secrets in your old room. The kitchen will always smell like the meals your father taught you and your mothers cleaning tips will ensure a clean you are accustomed to.
And even though you have a place of your own now, your old home is still there, with a welcoming door and your parents sitting in their usual chairs, dinner cooking on the stove and ice cream always in the freezer.
Just like when you were a kid.