In my life, there have been more bedrooms, more addresses and front doors and house keys than I can fully remember. Seven or eight with my family growing up; seven of my own since I turned eighteen. A few things are constants: my yellow iron bed frame, strings of polaroid photos from the past near-decade, fresh flowers from weekend grocery trips, art made by people I love & tiny mementos we, the memory keepers of the world, are destined to carry with us from place to place. These things that make it my home - a place I belong to as much as the foundation beneath the floor does. A place I'll belong to inevitably just long enough to leave a bit of myself and my feeling of home forever.