Packing Up My Childhood Bedroom

I packed up my childhood bedroom this weekend. It was a strange exercise in detachment. As I stuffed away every toy and book that once meant so much to me, it felt like I was sealing off a part of myself. There’s something clinical about the act, each item goes into a box without emotion, but the room feels hollow as if I’m slowly stripping it of its history. It's just dust now, really. Just a place where someone else will sleep someday.