I love Ben’s bedroom at his parent’s house. Like most childhood bedrooms, it filled with nostalgic moments in the form of forgotten objects that avoided trashcans and storage over the years. There are racks filled with CDs so outdated, they cause me to burst out laughing and small, plastic figurines coated in dust from where he left them from when he was still young enough to appreciate them. There are old textbooks, yearbooks covered in his friend’s young handwriting, and piano scores with dog-eared pages and rain puckered covers.
Besides the dark red walls and old, creaking windows that always seem to let the perfect amount of snow-bounced sunlight come dripping in, there are two sets of bunk beds I have fallen madly in love with. I have spent hours gazing up at the knots of woods, the changes in the textures, and wondered about the stories they were trying to tell.
I thought I would share some pictures, and perhaps the magic of this small room only works on me, but this is a place I love and a place I’ll always remember.