I don't know where I will be living this time next week.

I don't know where I will be living this time next week. I don't know whether I will be on a ground floor or a top floor. I have little clue who I shall be residing with. (Will they like me? I hope they like me.) The colour of my curtains and carpet remains unknown. Sure, I have the address, but I have no idea how it will smell, no idea how it will feel, and rather crucially, no idea how on earth it will begin to feel like home.

I am currently in my bedroom.

My bedroom has acted as my little haven for about 10 years. Admittedly, its been through some changes; my Cher Lloyd poster no longer decorates the walls, my garish pink bed sheets have been replaced and my mattress no longer has quite the same spring, but its mine. It's my room, my comfort zone and my private space. This bedroom has seen soggy pillows saturated with tears. It has been littered with bottles and plates and glasses. It has watched over scenes of my life that no other will. This room is the only place on earth that I ever feel truly, truly at ease. It is my home and always will be, right?

Now I'm confused. Do I even want the mystery room of next week to feel like my home if it'll take away from this one? Will the incomparable warmth and comfort of this bedroom to be simply a memory in days to come? I can't tell if I'm more afraid of moving on, of progressing from everything I know and love in this moment, or of never feeling like anything will ever compare to now.

I have no words to end this, no conclusion to come to. Only time will bring answers to all of this uncertainty.

Anna C.