I've been visiting my parents and sleeping in my old room. Obviously it's the guest room now and everything has been changed (I've been gone and married for over 5 years) except where the shelves are. And the stuff on them is obviously different, but I keep looking at them. Where my gold angel statue was, blade carefully taped underneath. And my treasure box, hiding another one. I think about it and cry. Not because of the person I was, but because of who I am. The longing. I miss their comfort. The only things I felt I could count on. And no matter how many times my mother raided my room she never did find all my stashes. I cleared them out years ago but I don't want to live without my blades.