There is something about turning points.

Something exciting. Something terrifying.

I was having breakfast with my father, complaining about the coffee. He laughed and said, ‘What will you do when you move out? You know that you’ll have to make it on your own every day, don’t you?’

I was talking to my mother. She was scolding me about always leaving the bottles uncapped. I laughed and said, ‘What will you do when I move out? You know that you are going to miss these small things about me, don’t you?’

I was talking to my grandmother, asking her to ensure that she doesn’t accidently take my pillow because I can’t sleep without it. She laughed and said, ‘What will you do when you move out? You know that you can’t take it with you, don’t you?’

I was fighting with my sister over something. My parents laughed and said to her, ‘What will you do when she moves out? You know you are going to miss her the most, don’t you?’

I was sitting by myself the other day, thinking, ‘What will you do when you move out? You are ready for this, aren’t you?’

There is something about turning points.

Something exciting. Something terrifying.

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