Of Stars in Cities

Old grounds

In a few hours, we would be at our old place once again and I dont know how i should feel about that.
I mean I did miss living with my dad at times, but I felt my mom was overall better without him.
They started arguing a few months before their split, but no one ended up knowing exactly why, everything happened within blink of an eye,  and all of a sudden we had moved out.

My parents would usually try to make things work out as much as possible so it wouldnt affect my brother and I, which only worked to a certain extend. I was around the age of 11 or 12 when I started to notice them arguing more often  and we all would be able to feel the tension between them. They would end up not talking to eachother for a while for the majority.

Anyways, despite the little amount they saw eachother and the limited time they had together, my parents still managed to find some spare time to argue in.
My mom worked night time shifts as a nurse at the time, and we would see her for a few hours after school before she headed out to work. Even after the divorce, her shifts only became longer, and I was overflown responsibilities once I was forced to take care of Austin a bit more often.

My father on the other hand, was and still is a lawyer, and worked from his office at home therefore took care of us for the most part, as he tried to sculpt us picture perfect kids that would reach my grandparents standards, which didnt always go too well. Surprisingly enough, he would text us very regularly trying to convince us to live with him after the divorce, but we both felt like living with our mother was much easier, since she wouldnt bug us as much.

But now I felt even more anxious and overwhelmed of the thought of living with him once again, he is a very amazing dad, dont get me wrong but I dont know if he had changed much. I always wished things would work out with my parents once again but when it came to reality i didnt seem as excited as I expected, a part of me is still afraid, afraid of things going wrong. Austin, on the other hand, didnt show much signs if he was with or against the idea, but seemed to be bit mad since he would be leaving his friends. If I had to say myself, I think he was worried of how his relationship would change, now after all that has happened.

I didnt know what to expect, walking into my room that would be filled with the random stuff I had when I was 11, almost 12. I even wondered if my father would have thrown away all of our things. I guess I just had to wait.

****

I stepped into the pink and purple room I once had, all my stuff sat untouched for around 4 years . My dad had locked the doors a day after we left, he always had hope we'd come live with him once again so he left all our belongings ready.
Just in case.

My desk sat underneath the big bedroom window where the sun would hit every morning. I had my bed on the left side of the room and a bunch of random toys and dirty clothes thrown on the ground.
The blinds were half open allowing some sunlight to come in, my desk was filled colored pictures had faded into lighter tones.
My desk itself, had turned grey from dust after years of not being cleaned.
My bed was done since I fixed it everytime first thing in the morning.

I stood next the desk and opened the dusty blinds slightly with my fingers and poked my eye through to look out at our neighborhood.
I then sat there as I gently brushed the tip of my fingers against the white painted wood then cleaned my finger on my pants.
I opened the drawer.

I found a box filled with 3 journals I had left not knowing it would take that long to see them once again.

My love for writing started around the time my parents started to fight, where I would write notes and narrate each day. I had filled them up during the seventh grade. I proceeded to open them and spent around an hour or two reading back on some entries.

I dusted off the dirt on the table and threw my bag on it. I opened it wide up to pull out my other diaries from the past few years with all the drawing and notes shoved in there.

I took out my 8th grade journal along with my 9th and 10th grade diary. I stared once again at all the drawings and layed them on my bed. I then looked for my most recent one, and started to panic as time went by with no sign of it. I emptied the bag on the floor shuffling through everything as things flew from one side of the room to the other.

I ran out of my room before I collapsed on the ground.
It had been lost.

Lost forever.