Four Walls in the American North

I am sitting on my bed—on my real bed—the one back at home—my real home in the American North. I am sitting on my bed, which is right next to my room’s windows. I cracked them open and turned on the fan. After all, it is late spring. Here in the north it is backing hot during the day and charming cool during the night. There is no need to turn on the AC—at least not yet.

And now, I must be honest. Allow me to be. Although I can’t deal well with geographic transitions, with my current unsettled lifestyle as a college student, this room—my room—at home in the American north—I love coming back to. Four walls of numerous memories, one colored olive green, the other white; one hangs a portrait I painted last summer, the other some awards.

This is my room—my four walls—back in the American North. This is the place I always miss, the place I dream of coming back to every season. I realize I must pack my things and leave once again later this week. However, this vintage bedroom, with an olive green wall, and another white, with the light summer breeze waving through the windows, will be waiting for my return.

Just thinking...