Upon entering the room, I was immediately blasted by a gust of frigid air. As I crossed the threshold, it’s cool arms wrapped themselves around me, holding me close. I could feel it’s frosty breath trickle down my neck, making me shiver; however, instead of cowering against it, I was jolted out of my daze. The world around me was brought into perspective. As I walked across the worn wooden floors, brightness from the white of the overcast sky outside poured in through high windows on the opposite wall. Beyond the glass were rows of trees, some jagged, while others stood straight, with their leaves flaunting exquisite colors against the grey sky. A grand brick fireplace stood on the far wall, the flames from within omitting pleasant waves of heat. Every so often, bursts of flame would crackle and spurt from behind the wire screen. The couches surrounding it on either side were made of a plush material. I felt the strong urge to curl up in the corner and simply forget about all my problems and adversities, never giving a second’s worry about anything as long as the world spun round. Despite the openness of the room, with the untamed woods right on the other side of the thin walls, there was a reassuring sense of security. Hearing the sounds of creatures from within the depths nature herself was calming and comforting. The walls and ceiling, comprised only of wood, cast a darkened tone on the lighting, creating a sense of isolation from the rest of the world and all of the tragedy and despair accompanied with it. However, as much solitude as the room provided, I knew that I was not alone.

This room had seen many things; heard many conversations; experienced many hardships. It was one with the people who inhabited it, part of their very souls. The room knew each member of the family very well, having watched them all thrive and find themselves over the years. At the door in the upper lefthand corner, both children who lived in the house had taken every first and last day of school picture they ever had. The photos hung on the wall above. Tear stains littered the arm of the chair near the window, where a little girl had once been told by her parents that one of her good friends had died. On the couch, many movies about love, war, death, success, had been watched by the family. It was worn and fraying in places from all those late family movie nights. The floor in the middle still had traces of the games that had been played on holidays with the relatives, crumpled Monopoly money had resided underneath a few of the chairs. Looking back at the entrance, a small picture could be seen, that upon closer inspection read, It is what it is. It was a reminder of the last thing their grandfather had given to the family before he was lost to Alzheimers’. Photographs of past vacations played on a loop on the sleeping computer screen, and pictures of the many adventures the family had taken lined the mantlepiece. This room was a place where these people grew up. Where they shared their memories, both good and bad. Where they felt safe, at home. This room was the center of their lives; it possessed many memories of both their triumphs and their tragedies. Just by simply sitting and observing, in a mere five minutes, one could learn a lot about the people who had grown up in it.  Many ghosts of the past had taken to living in the fine, intricate details of the room. And each time someone of the family stepped foot in it, they smiled, remembering all that had happened there, and continued to create memories that they could someday look back upon, allowing them to truly appreciate the beauty of life.