I was feeling very low this evening, and for some reason I went into my bedroom. This is a temporary place, a bookmark kind of place, for I have never considered this house, this room, to be my home. I didn't grow up in this room, my family moved here after I had left for college. I sleep here occasionally over weekends and vacations, I store things here. I went into my bedroom, and started to go through one of the many boxes full of miscellaneous things in my room. I found some Christmas lights that decorated my dorm room last year, and draped them around the room, and for some reason that made me feel better. So I lit some candles and started to go through things. This room is so full of memories to me, there are momentos of my entire life scattered about...a feathered New Year's Eve 2000 tiara sits right next to a Mickey Mouse wallet my grandmother gave me when I was six years old. Every book I've ever loved, from The Velveteen Rabbit on...and of course photographs, some which I've totally forgotten about. My sister and I standing on the porch for our first day of school when I was going into the second grade, my best friend and I, candid, giggling in the pews during our first communion. My father, his head bald from the chemotherapy, standing next to his motorcycle.

This all serves to remind me of all the wonderful moments that I've had on this Earth in this seemingly endless 20 years, and of how much I would miss if I were ever to take my own life.

Time takes everything, softens it into something beautiful.

The next time that I feel as though life is not worth living, I want someone to remind me of this: that life is so wonderful and strange and you never know what's going to happen next. I want to remember this room that contains my entire little life, and the night when all of those insignificant moments made me break down and cry with joy.

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