You know the stick figure houses that you drew when you were younger… The ones that were disproportionally squared with two slanted lines for a roof? Well, that roof was the shape of my childhood room ceiling. My bedroom faced the northwestern corner of the house that had held a handful of generations of family. Despite it’s the fact that it was well-kempt for it’s age, it still had the aura of having witnessed many coming- of- age stories. The walls that were once white, were now painted lavender to announce my arrival. It was furnished with three purchases from Ikea. A tanned wooden bed that mimicked the very-low laying Japanese style furniture. It was probably only one to two feet high, positioned across from the door. Hanging against the wall where the bed was stood a portrait of two cherubs against a blue, cloudy sky backdrop adorned within a golden frame. The repositioning of the frame from a less than sturdy hangnail would soon lead to the chipping of my purple paint. The second piece held the most emotional value. It was a corner, triangle desk positioned between two large windows where I first discovered my love of writing and wrote my first fiction story.