The room smells of dust and memories. Looking at it through its eight feet entrance, I try remembering home in it. Purple curtains and the table by its side. Walls with posters; walls with paintings. I lightly swing my torso backwards, resting pale knuckles with a single ring on the mahogany frame as I see the reflection of emptiness echoing back at me. I’m not sure if it’s the silence that makes my heartbeat so audible or the silence within. Leaving my imprint on the door, I walk in with the company of wheels rolling by my side. The fans wake up with a creaking I’m glad to hear. I sit down cross legged on the unfamiliar mattress with the familiar bed sheet of pearl with red roses. Pulling my knees close to my chest, I close my eyes and try to focus on my breathing only to juggle chirping, creaking and dry gulps. There’s a buzz that breaks me from the silent chaos as I’m notified of a message.