A Room Worth a Thousand Words

This room aged with me. It underwent changes as I changed. The walls listened to my cries in the night of troubles only a lone soul would know. The old bulletin board above my computer is odd. The transition of who I was to who I am clashes like two wild cats competing for game. There hadn't been open space on this ancient board for years and I imagine now that I naturally just layered on memories with the point of a tack. It frightens me that the majority of these memories above my head feel much more distant than they should- I can hardly remember most of them. However, the recent rekindling of a broken friendship aids in the remembrance of these lost memories. They bring a smile to my face as I allow them to rush back to my frontal lobe, out from the deepest and most forgotten parts of my mind. I have finally found an inkling of who I might be, but I am not what you remember. And I'm not entirely sure if you will accept this.