The camellias bloomed in the spring

It’s strange—the parallels between moving out now and the feelings while moving in nearly six years ago. I remember the moment of settling into this room—empty but so full of opportunity. So much has changed—I’ve graduated from high school and am entering a new chapter of my life in a new city—but so much has stayed the same as well. This home has been my constant through those years.

We moved around over the years, but this home has felt like the place where I grew up. It’s where so many of my favorite memories were made—starting a vegetable garden with my family, numerous barbecues despite the city’s moody weather, and going on spontaneous photowalks in the park.

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It’s hard to leave behind a place that holds so many memories—Thanksgiving dinners for as long as I can remember and the glittering Christmas lights, but in these last days, I’ve come to appreciate the details: the way evening light streams through the kitchen window, the familiar path home past the green of the park, and the colorful rows of houses all around.

I’ll certainly remember the camellias. They always bloomed in the spring.

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