Creative Writing #3

Vi ble bedt om aa skrive om et rom som vi ikke hadde vaert i paa lang tid:

The door is closed. The sign says: "Benedicte's room. Please leave it the same condition you want to find it". The sign is made on my step-dad's computer and it has a horse on it. I remember how much I loved horses when I was younger. When I opened the door I'm met with cold air filled with dust. It's smells so new, but at the same time so forgotten. the walls are yellow but covered in posters and pictures of horses and the Backstreet Boys. In the left corner I find my bed, the one I got when I was .. I believe 6 or maybe seven. When I sit down I can feel the springs in the matress, I can hardly understand how I survived multiple nights in this worn-out bed. Looking over my head as I lay down I see my nightlamp. God, I worked so hard to get it up.
The room is cold and alone but my fuzzy teddybears keep me company. I know they miss the time when I wispered secret words in their ears that mad them come to life. Walking into my room is like walking into a time-machine. everything is the same way I left it when I was thirteen. I remember when this was my home, the place i wanted to come home to after school. Play in the backyard and climb as high as I could in the trees. Now I come here only a couple times a year. It some how feels empty now. Like the dreams I made here dissappeared as I grew older. But I know they're still there. I just have to dig them back into the daylight.
The brightly colored walls and the window that let the sun shine on my face reminds me of times I would wake up and smile. This is the room I shared with my sister, the room where I threw tmy shoe at my sister and where we listened to the Backstreet Boys until we fell asleep. My room.