I walk through the doorway and am greeted by a nosey ray of light. Its bright joyful presence was leaking through some dusty blinds as always. As the door gently shuts behind me I am enveloped by a feeling of security. The smiling white walls bring me comfort even though they stand almost naked. Reflections of light dance around the walls and highlight the textures on them. The patterns embedded in them are standard, little splotches bubbling off the base coat. Even though there is nothing to admire in this white wall I have memorized every little pattern.

As I walked to my bed I could feel the itchy carpet tickling my feet but after a few months of walking over it I hardly pay the coarse fibers any attention. I arrive at my bed and examine the mess of fabric in front of me. A large hole lies perfectly in the middle of it all, my cozy comforter is strewn out across a nearby chair, and my soft pillows lay where they always are with an imprint of my head pressed into them. I collapse onto it and enjoy its’ amazing embrace. As I lay there the aromas of my room struck my nostrils. An odd mix of Febreeze, guitar polish, and Doritos filled my room. It was the usual smell my room possessed and I had learned to ignore it, maybe even like it. My gaze had drifted over to the large mirror at the front of my room. This deceptive glass original purpose was to hide a closet; however it truly revealed the rest of my four walled sanctuary. It captured the entirety of the room and reflected it back upon itself, the glossy picture capturing every moment. It is easily my favorite part of the room. In its reflection sits a guitar and its dressings. The flat black finish is slightly tarnished from various belts and wall corners that have abused it over the years. Its fret-board is worn down from my fingers attacking it over and over throughout the years. I can almost visualize the countless hours I have sat on my beds corner jamming into the nights end. This guitar had its own space in this room, its own little square of carpet that contained its own memories. When I look at this slightly cleaner patch of my room I can feel the metallic, twangy vibration of the strings beneath my fingers. I hear the thick, rich sound of the guitar. As these memories begin to fade my gaze drifts over to my desk. This desk in the corner brings to me the feeling of an uncomfortable wooden chair that creaks and moans when you try to shift your weight, and the feeling of little buttons clicking beneath my fingers with a rich clacking sound. The bright welcoming glow of my monitor flickers in my thoughts as I look at this odd desk. Its slick black legs protruded oddly from the thin white top. It held my belongings atop its sleek surface with a worrying frailty but it has lasted so long it wasn’t likely it would break any time soon. Directly across from this sat my longboards. And with these came the sensation of crisp air rushing against my face and pulling at my hair. I can feel beneath my feet the wood of my board straining and bouncing trying to stay straight. The same warm surge of adrenaline I get when I’m speeding down a hill swarms through my body. As it subsides I notice they PlayStation sitting awkwardly on a cardboard box. I walk over to it and pick up the controller. Its crude plastic texture that once felt so foreign in my hands fits in to my hands perfectly. I turn on the T.V. above it and listen to the soft hum of its dusty guts sputtering to life. A blue screen finally appears, I suddenly remember why I don’t use this anymore. This slim black gaming system broke a long time ago. I sadly rest it upon a dust videogame case. While I return to my bed my eyes floated up to the ceiling.

It is dark outside now. The bright lively shine of my room has subsided to a cool mellow glow thanks to the moon. My monitor still flickers in the corner but the light is faint and has combined with the moons own shimmering beams to make a beautifully silver essence. The walls look different in this light. Their glowing texture has transformed into a watery image dancing about my ceiling. As I close my eyes and rest my head in its place on the pillows the images of my room flood my head. This room is my home within my home and every bit of it is exactly the way I like it.