That pretty blue house on the corner of the street was always my favorite one. It's where we played countless hours of DDR and JustDance, where we used to wrestle with your puppies, where we blew out birthday candles for ten years and woke up to the sun streaming in your window on Saturday mornings from fourth grade to senior year of high school. Something about that bedroom always made me feel happy and warm. Something about that house always felt like home.
Life is funny. All of a sudden, things change and we have to roll with the punches. When I first heard that your parents were selling that house, I actually cried a little because it had been such a huge part of my childhood, as of course it had been to you. Now, when I drive by, I notice that it's been painted a different color, there's a new car in the driveway and new people milling about the front yard. There's a new feeling around it that's unfamiliar and foreign.
When I flip through photo albums, I find pictures of us dressed up as princesses in that house: in your bedroom, the living room (which I've memorized the arrangement of) and I think of how many memories we created there. It was such a happy place and one that shaped my childhood and gave me countless fond memories.
That house will always be your home. No matter where you go, or where your family lives, I hope that little blue house will always be home in your mind. I'll miss it so much but I'm grateful to have had the pleasure of growing up with you and that house.
