Counting down the minutes until the final box would make its way into the truck,
I silently prayed that this was all just a bad dream.
Of course I'd been here before, taping up boxes and nervously pacing the stairs.
But this time was different.
I couldn't stop the pounding in my chest or the drop in my stomach.
I could hear my mom making her final cleaning rounds and it suddenly hit me.
I tried to keep it together, but I let my back slide down the wall and my head hit my knees.
Sitting in my empty bedroom with tear-stained cheeks and a heavy heart, I asked,
"Will it be easy this time?"
My question echoed through the desolate hallway.
I got up and took one last look at the four walls I had taken comfort in those last two years.
As I closed the door,
I found my answer in the stillness.