I have a ton of awful memories here... but for every devastating one, there's an amazing one. 

It's the place I've lived the longest in my life. 4 years as of yesterday.

Everywhere else has been 3 years or less. 

I thought I finally had a "home", at least until I went to college.

I am angry, because my home isn't with my family. It's the houses I've lived in, with the memories of people I've met, and memories of nights when I cried myself to sleep, progressing to nights where I would come in at midnight, wearing a dress which would usually make me irate but I wouldn't care, because I was 16 and in love, and I'd sing old 1940s songs and dance and fall asleep on the floor because I was just so elated to be alive.

All of that happened here. In this room. And now I have to leave it, just like literally everything else in my life. Nothing has ever been lasting. No one has stayed more than a year, no house has held us for more than 3, now 4 years.

And no house will, because in a year I will be moving to another state, possibly another country. And I will never take my temporary happiness home, because I will never have a home. They've never worked out for me. Why would they in the future?

For a few sweet, sweet short months, I thought maybe... maybe I can. Maybe someday I will have a home, maybe someday it will last, maybe someday there will be a "we", and we'll last. 

Those were beautiful months. 

But those months are past. 

Now for the next 15 months.. 

I know there will be times when I cry myself to sleep. 

There will never be moments when I dance around, and play pretend in my head with vivid hopes for the future. 

I have never had a lasting home, and I never will. 

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