It’s interesting what a mock-up of a memory can do. As I walk though my childhood home, the feel of the rooms call out to me. The colors, textures, and sense of them are familiar. Even now in my parents room, I feel like I’m in a place that is off limits, although I own every prim. I am remembering more about different rooms. For one, my parents closet had these enormouse coloring books in them. We rarely got to color them since they were in my parents room. It was a cherished experience when we did. I just wish that I could make this place look a bit more real.
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