You Gotta Be Rich To Be Insane,

My Box Bedroom Can Only Fit A Bed And A Wardrobe But It Was My Whole World. My Only Personal Space To Think And Dream, To Cry And Laugh And Wait Until I Became Old Enough To Do All The Things I Wasn't Allowed To Do.

Every Single Time You Crossed Over For Me And Met Me On My Side. I Realize Now, I Don't Think I Ever Met You In The Middle. And I Don't Think I Ever Once Said That You For That.

I Don't Know Why, But There's Always The Part Of You, The Part That Hides In The Shadows Protecting The Self-destruct Button, That Doesn't Ever Want To Leave The Dark Behind.

I Can’t Even Think About What Life “could Have Been” Like In Boston, Without Crying. It’s Like Deja-vu, I Don’t Think Me And Boston Were Ever Meant To Be.

So Many Objects, So Many Memories. Each Was Being Labelled And Packed Away In Bags Just As It Was In Her Mind. To Be Stored In An Area That Would Sometime Be Called Upon To Teach And Help In Future Life.