The places of my childhood are gone. It was all I really had left. The tree I spent so many summer evenings sitting beneath and reading as the temperature dropped and the sun went down isn’t there any more. The new owners of my grandparents’ house chopped it down. My grandmother’s green metal porch furniture, circa the 1950s is probably rusting away in some landfill. My grade school is closed, the park I played in is completely different now. And all those places that meant so much to me are places I went alone. That’s the saddest part to me.