It's taken me along time to reach this day. And for the past 6 years i've been dreading it. I've accepted an offer on my home, the home i grew up in. Previously the property belonged to my parents, up untill 6 months after my Dad's death when the deeds were transferd to my name. I was eighteen by then, 17 when he died. And 7 months before that my Mum too, had passed. I lived there, alone, for 3 years just remembering, getting stoned, and remembering. Every room in the building is full of memories, things i'll never forget. Things i dont want to forget and things i hope i wont forget. I think that's been my main reason for keeping the house for so long. Incase i forget. I can go back there and remember anytime i want. I feel close to my parents there, yet so far away. It's home. It'll always be home. But i have to sell it. I have to move on. For along time i saw the day i realease my home into someone elses ownership as the end. Which, in a way it is. But it's only the end of a chapter. Not my life. For that, it's the start. I've not lived there for three years now, it's been vacant. An empty testomony to the love that was once encased in the walls. But i could still, any time i want, go there, go home. Knowing that i can never go back there again scares me. But in reality there's nothing there, it's empty. It's just memories and i dont need the home to keep those. I accepted an offer on my childhood home today. It's time to move on.