Nostalgia for Twenty-Four

Growing up, my house was always a refuge for young people; friends, lost souls, and those with nowhere else to go. I don't think my father realized when he endeavored to build a two-story red brick house on a ten-acre farm, that the place he carved out for his family of six would become home to so many more.

We're all adults now. Parents, Brother, and baby sister have all moved. Only my sister and I remain in the house, and now we've sold it. With less than 20 days left in my childhood home, I am suddenly reliving the last 24 years. Memories play out around every corner and I can't help by write down how I feel about them, about leaving, and about life.

Nothing here is fiction; it's me, my life. You don't have to read it. I just have to write it.

Edit: Made a few changes, all minor.