I took one last glance at the walls which used to be white when we moved in. Though somewhere along the fifteen years we shared, the walls began to pollute and change. Yellow oozed from the ceiling down, a dead giveaway that there were smokers in the house. Or at least there used to be. The bug guts on the walls tried to excuse the violence that the house ensued; but with holes in our walls and hearts, we were much like an open book.

Forty-three Myrtle St, 2015, our home was the opposite of its definition, a battlefield leaving scars. Everywhere you tread, peering for the landmines. The cause of it all? My mom and dad. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn't always like this. We were once the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, but much like rainbows, that didn’t last long. Not a day went by where I hadn’t burrowed myself in the corners of my room; blocking out the words my parents threw at each other like knives. Contrary to the belief, words cut deeper than sticks and stones. While wounds heal in time, forgetting what was said is a longer process. Some things became easier after my dad fled, but it didn’t take her long to bring in a worse man. Things subdued for a few years before it got bitter again.

This time was worse, and I was older and wiser now. We became acquainted with the police, in some cases, even being on a first-name basis. Though the years continued and it became harder to pay for our rent whilst my mom’s mind was on different things. In 2019 we took yet another turn, being kicked out of a place we had lived in for fifteen years. The place I was born and raised. We weren’t given time to adjust or heal, in three days we had to be out. Unshockingly, it's difficult to pack up fifteen years' worth of possessions in three days. We left behind numerous amounts of valuable things and in the pile of rubble, like a cherry on top, laid my childhood.

As one door closes, another door will always open. We stayed with my meme for two weeks before finding a place to live. Although it was surely a nicer place than where we were before. To me, it wasn’t home. I had none of the memories from before in this new place, and like the cold, it grew empty. I felt like I had left my mind at our old house, and just my body continued forth. I was wondering aimlessly at first, everything about this was new to me and I didn’t know how to feel.

However, like all things, time is a great healer. The longer I shared there, the more memories we made, and soon I could accept the place as home. I had realized something important. I spent so much time searching for the parts that were left behind in those yellow-stained walls, that I had forgotten to move forward. While I was stuck in the past, time was urging me to catch up. Like a light switch one day, I had come to the conclusion that the parts of me left behind, were parts that are better kept under lock and key.