I stand in the middle of the disaster that was my room and look around:
Posters are in the trash bag and rolled up if I wanted them; My guitar is sitting on the floor and not on my wall; my desk is gone and loaded up, my bed is littered with menial things from clothing to boxes filled with even more odd items; lastly I see the boxes at my feet, closed and ready to be entered into a vehicle to be shipped to my own place.
I sigh and am happy at the idea I've gotten this much work done. But as I look around again I can't help but think. . .
(Am I really doing this?)
I know the answer is Hell yes. I'm 18 and I may not know if I'm ready to be on my own. . . I feel like. . . It's either time to grow up or quit dreaming. "You ok babe?" my girlfriend says from behind me, one hand on my shoulder. I sighed and smiled at the thought in my head. (I ain't ready to stop dreamin')
"Yeah. . .Jus'. . . can't belive I'm doing this." She nods as I put an arms around her waist and kiss her cheek.
(I wouldn't change anything. . .)
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