MOVING OUT

It seems only slightly surreal to be sitting (technically kneeling) at my desk in an almost empty room. It echoes eerily and seems void of all the things that held so much value to me.
My mother always said that I'd be last to leave home. But I suppose the defiant teenager within me wanted to prove her wrong.
My life in now in boxes which are precariously stacked in the back of a van. All that's left behind are a few bits and pieces, flakes of my time spent in this room. I guess most people don't feel this kind of bond to their spaces, but when you have lived somewhere since you were 1 year old it becomes a lot harder to dramatically alter something that had been so concrete.

There is probably 90 minutes to go before I hop in the passenger seat. I don't really know how to feel, it's odd (although perhaps that's because I'm hungry).