The room where I am writing tonight is actually my living room. I guess I could call it my living room. I live here although my name is not on the house. It is mainly all of my things that furnish it. I sit here on the couch as I am alone as I am most nights. So, my lap top comes in handy. I have yet to unpack the office although there is a nice desk, chair and computer there. I will get in the mood eventually to unpack the boxes.

As I sit here on the couch and look around the room, I see the old wooden table that was my grandmothers sitting in the corner over by the dining room table. When I look at it, I remember just where it stood in my Grandmothers living room. It had a terrarium sitting on top of it. It was in front of the window behind the television. I look straight ahead and see my porcelain angel collection sitting on the shelves. They are so beautiful. The angels were gifts from family and friends. When I look up at the wall…I see a frame with a poem inside. My ex forever friend bought that for me a few years ago. It is a beautiful poem but I know it means nothing now. There are so many memories that fill this room. It makes me think so much of the past that I try to forget so frequently. I think I need to rethink the decorating in here. Maybe be a little more creative as I am learning to be with my writing.