Sweet Dreams

We all have that one room. The one where when you were a child, you never thought it would change. This room would be forever, even with all the paint jobs and furniture rearrangements. It morphed and grew as you did. A space that holds familiarity and stretches with you. One day lime green coats the walls, even though you wanted it to be pink. Mom said that would be too much with the pink bedding, so you settle on the next best thing. There are hints of lime green in the sheets and duvet cover, sprinkled with horses, riding boots, ribbons, and trophies. Mom has an eye for that sort of thing, but you still secretly wish it was all pink. 

You and your sister jump up and down on your bed, getting just enough height to slap colored sparkly glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. Her giggle echos down into the hall each time she misses, falling back on the bed in a pile of limbs, hair everywhere. There is no rhyme or reason to the stars’ placement, just wherever they decide to cling to. You get the idea to put one on the fan so you can always have a shooting star to wish from. 

After some time, lime green walls turn bright blue. Pony wall stickers peel off and are replaced with black accents and bookshelves. Those pink pony sheets become black and white polka dots. The ribbons that once proudly hung from the ceiling with makeshift pink, blue, and purple yarn are now piled in the closet, collecting dust. LED lights are strung around, yet you can’t get yourself to take down the glowing stars. You say it’s for soft lighting, but really you are still afraid of the dark. All the walls are a vibrant blue, except for one small geometric wall protruding in the corner. The night you painted it black with chalk paint, the boy you liked called you. It was a corner where you could be messy, artistic, and creative, but not too much because it needed to be aesthetic like Pinterest. You think you’re original when really you just copied your friend. How edgy of you. I hope she’s doing okay. 

Clothes start to fill the room, replacing the stuffed animals. Your face always lit by the glow of a phone screen before bed instead of a book. You used to read all the time, but now the books sit there, a part of the decor. Butterfly notebooks are now butterflies in your stomach. You straighten your hair every day and apply sparkly brown mascara. Do they even sell that anymore?

A few years later that bright blue returns back to its roots – green once again – but this version is a matured muted sage. This time it fully feels like your choice and you chose correctly. Hints of lime green and blue peak out where you missed painting over, reminding you of your past, of its past. Covering up the innocence and heartbreak that existed before. The black bedding stays for way longer than you want, because replacing it means you get less clothes for Christmas. But it eventually returns to a soft muted pink, with a shaggy boho design – much more you. The LED lights are replaced with soft fairy lights and additional light sources are added. It really is for mood lighting, I swear. A lamp here. A cherry blossom tree with lights twinkling from the edge of the branches there. You hang pictures of friends, family, and your animals – but only a few to be tasteful. You add an armoire because you finally got rid of that playhouse in the corner. You add a full-length mirror to check your outfits and make sure you are keeping up with the trends. Dad helps you install a hanging planter in the corner for a plant you can never keep alive. It’s great in theory and really adds to the aesthetic, but Death has a funny way of adding its own touch. When you open the blinds, some of those horse window decals still remain. You forgot about them but let them stay. They’ve earned their place and you can’t bring yourself to strip them of their home. You want to paint over the chalk wall because it doesn’t match but you don’t because every friend or loved one that has ever been in your room has signed it. You can’t erase years of memories. Some of those signatures are the closest thing you have to them. There were once so many words exchanged, and now this is all that is left – just the writing on the wall. The stars still glow on the ceiling, and the fan is always on. Make a wish. Black accents are now replaced with wood and woven things. Baskets and vases, most of them thrifted, adding to the eclectic peaceful chaos. You start to wear your hair natural. Even with all of its transformations, a piece has remained from each stage. 

But now you don’t live here. When you come back home, a place that you once felt would never change does one day. It’s yours but it doesn’t fully feel like it. It’s a shell of its previous self. A shell of you. A space that once gave instant comfort and relief now feels slightly off, almost eerie with its emptiness. Something so familiar, yet so different – so distant. Feelings and emotions that were so strongly felt in this room, are nothing but a faded memory, one that I don’t feel anymore. But she did. She felt everything. Pain that felt like you never would get through, that felt trapped in this space, no longer fill it. It’s now just a place where you sleep when you’re home. It’s in hibernation, softly echoing your past, barely holding on. 

Your clothes don’t live here anymore and neither do you, only memories do. There’s an imprint in the right corner by your bed from where your dog used to lay. You still have the cup covered in ducks that he would drink out of every night. It always pissed you off when you’d accidentally kick it, spilling water everywhere, but now you’d do anything to step in a fresh puddle. He’s been gone for over a year now, but his outline in the carpet still remains from every night spent sleeping in the same spot wearing down and fading it. It stays, no matter how hard you scrub. Deep down you don’t want it to go away. You still crack the door out of habit, so he can run downstairs while you sleep in, but it no longer creaks open in the morning. It’s empty without him. 

Kisses and tears and heartbreak and 3 am phone calls and wild dreams and broken bones and belly laughter and sleepovers and exhaustion and sore muscles and growth spurts and loud barks and studying till 1 am and blisters and stuffy noses and dry itchy skin and I love you’s still linger like ghosts. They all lived here once. 

You used to make your little brother sleep on the ground next to your bed. You convinced him that he was scared to sleep alone when really it was you who was scared. Always tricking him to keep you company, now you don’t see him much. And now you live alone. Sleeping alone is all you know. You’ve learned to like it, which is scary in its own way. You always told that one guy you would never live on your own, and now here you are. Breyer horses that once covered every square inch of carpet (you would move your bed for maximum space) one day ended up in storage. How did that happen? When did you stop playing? Why? Who decides the time is up? Toys are substituted with drinks. Now I get excited over kitchenware and homemade sourdough bread. When did that happen? Who decides when the time is up and everything changes except for those lucky stars? I still close my eyes and make a wish because life happens slowly and then all at once. Now the stars still hold on, a glow still barely emanating from them, almost not even there – but it is. Enough to still wish on. Because even though you are not her anymore, sometimes you have to keep on dreaming and hang your own stars to wish from. Reach for the stars, even if you only get to the ceiling. And if you fail, your bed will catch you.