A Time When I Returned to a Place of My Past

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Returning to my past It wasn’t just a house; it was a capacious, pastel, lemon colored house overflowing with numerous memories, accompanied by two spacious acres of land filled with a smelly horse stable and another small house with a gigantic RV next to it. It was everything that you could ask for, but it started to go downhill when her dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It was fifth grade and we had just gotten new seats. I sat right across from this extremely bothersome, chatty girl. I tried to ignore her but found it to be too difficult. We eventually started talking and she began to grow on me. We became really good friends until I met her sister who I clicked with. I mean don’t get me wrong, I really liked my new friend, but I liked her sister more. Ever since then we became inseparable. They had a family of six; a mom, a dad, two boys, and two girls. I loved everything about her family; their brainless arguments over stupid things, their weirdness, and their craziness. Every time I visited their house, there was always an unexpected surprise or adventure that would arise. Some nights we would climb up onto the roof and we would talk for hours at a time, spilling all of our inner most secrets and worries. There were other nights also, where we would stroll along the backwoods admiring the stillness of the night. Most if not all of my memories came from her house. We had many memories in that house and I loved every single one, including the dreadful ones. I remember aimlessly wandering late at night through the itchy, insect filled trail behind her house, where we lay on the dewy grass for hours staring at the stars. I remember ignorant arguments we had over things such as “which cup of coffee is mine?”, “or you forgot to bring it again?”, but within ten minutes, we would forgive each other and be rejoicing again. The memories that brought me the most joy were the most mischievous ones. I...
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