There is a place I used to call home, surrounded by a chain-linked fence, and shaded by a huge Box Elder tree. I had lived there since I was only a baby, and to this day, I share countless memories with it. It is impossible to count the miles I crawled on the shag carpet, wearing nothing but "Ninja Turtle" underwear. I remember the long creaking of the steps, as I would walk up them, terrified of what was at the top.

    There is a place I used to call home with chipped paint and worn out shingles. I will always remember the tip tapping of the rain hitting the tattered roof and the rustle of the Box Elder leaves which blew in the mid summer wind. I remember the chimes ringing with the wind as the warm breeze swept across my face.

    There is a place I used to call home but no longer can. I drive by it every day on my way to and from school, and think to myself all the wonderful memories I have. When all is said and done, pictures will fade, the house will no longer stand, but in my mind, it will always be home.