I stand here, huntched over, leaning on my elbows that were balenced perfectly on the railing of the balcony. There are boxes pilled high against the far wall of my bedroom, filled with all the objects that once covered my room.

I was moving, agian. This was about the 5th or 6th time I’ve moved in my life time. My father is part of this buisness and when something crashes, anywhere across the country, he fixes it. So, I have been to a bunch of different places. I was hoping that I could stay here. Guess that didn’t work out very well.

I stand there, letting the cool morning air brush over my skin, taking as much of it in before I had to leave it all behind. I took I deep breath, closing my eyes. I stand straight up, streching. Then there was a knock on my doors. I turned around and it was my father. He looked over to the pile of boxes against my wall before saying,

“You seem to pack less and less every time.”
I rolled my eyes and began helping him take the boxes out to the van.