Home, home in the city

My actual home is in the city. I live in a three story house which is not big but not small either. Most people in my neighbourhood aren’t as well off as we are, and the little cluster of houses around us (only about four or five) are the only ones that are kept groomed. Most of the houses have small, dying gardens and other things that should be fixed on their houses. Whether or not they can’t or don’t want to, I don’t know yet.

Inside my parents have made our house look quite un-used. Whenever I try to leave something lying around to make it look like someone lives there, my mom snatches it up and puts it back where it belongs- out of sight.

And so I have made my room the most cluttered thing on this planet. My drawings litter the walls, nothing is ever tidy, laundry sits for weeks on my floor, my bed is also basically another storage zone, books are everywhere and paper cranes even hang from the ceiling.

Oh, and my bedroom is only about fifteen by twenty.

SO you could say I’ve over compensated. But when I get home  again, I’m going to clean it up- especially the floor. (If I even have one anymore.)

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