Leaving the room that has become your home away from home for the past year can be tough. It's strange to imagine that you're about to compress all of that sweet dorm decor you bought last summer into the back of your dad's minivan and never come back. But leaving your first dorm room isn't a completely sad story; I mean, sure, it will never be the same as it was when you lived in it, but packing it all up is just like tucking all the memories you've made in it under the covers. They'll never really leave you. In fact, I hope that the quirks about this personal little corner of campus will stay with me for a while, even if they need a metaphorical nightlight to be seen and recalled.

Following in the footsteps of Margaret Wise Brown's beautiful little book, "Goodnight Moon," here are my goodbyes to my last-first dorm:

Goodnight, drawer at the bottom of my desk.

You were incredibly noisy, like a screeching Fury coming after my soul. But you were also among the largest drawers in the room, so you were perfect for keeping my stacks upon stacks of papers safe. Thanks for that, at least.

Goodnight, lone tub of butter that outlasted everything else in my fridge.

You remind me of all of my failed attempts at making mac and cheese on the sketchy stove in the basement. "This hot plate butter work this time," I'd think to myself (BA dum TSS). Sweet dreams, little tub. My lack of cooking skills is not your fault.

Goodnight, strange line on the floor.

I always wondered where you came from, and hoped that it wasn't some gross circumstance that created you.

Goodnight, fridge.

Your cool facade was the perfect home for the postcards I bought at the Met when I traveled there with some of my best friends. You kept a nice memory of mine on display. I'm grateful to you for that.

Goodnight, wall.

You were the perfect showcase for all of the sick posters I bought at Comic Con this year. And at your summit, you hosted the best display of all: my "Detective of the Night" certificate, which I received after winning the grand prize at a Murder Mystery Night with some friends at the beginning of the semester. It was wild.

(You may be wondering what our prize was, and it was the best prize of all: a bunch of certificates).

Goodnight, closet.

While your inside was pretty full to the brim with clothes and cleaning supplies, your outside sported a nice gridline of some other postcards I got for my last birthday. These postcards, like the ones from the Met, also featured art, but rather art from Disney's animated feature films. My mom got them for me, so I'd always think of her when looking at your double-doors.

Sidebar: I suppose there's a recurring theme going on here. As I compiled new experiences, so, too, did I compile new decorations. This article really must be a work of Literature then, because that smells like symbolism to me. Either that, or I've just subconsciously written a knockoff of Jimmy Fallon's "Thank You Notes." Anyway, back to saying goodnight, and to jazz things up a bit, how about we add some rhymes?

Goodnight, blinds.

You stayed down for pretty much the entire year, not because I disliked the outdoors, but because you'd get stuck really easily.

And goodnight, signs.

You kept me in check. I only forgot my keys four times.

Goodnight, lights.

Your warm fluorescence always showered me with the most naturally unnatural glow.

And goodnight, pipes.

D*mn, you were loud.

Goodnight rug, too small for my floor.

And goodnight, hook for the keys on my door.

Goodnight number 219, a digit off from my class year.

And good morning to my empty room, ready for a new freshman peer.

To that new resident: take care of this place for me, okay? It wasn't much, but for a while it was home.