Tears filling the brim of my eyes, I looked down at the only family photo I had of my parents and me.
It was perfect.
We were perfect.
I still remember Mom’s smooth silky jet black hair that always flowed in the countryside wind. Her pale skin glowed in the sunlight, and her crooked smile whenever dad was next to her. I still remember dad’s loud chuckle that sounded exactly like Santa Claus and his weird sense of fashion. He always wore buttoned-up flannels and cargo shorts but he rocked them. Placing the photo by my bed frame, I smiled at it, knowing that they would be looking down and smiling at me right now and saying how proud they were of me.
“San Diego,” I mumbled to myself. That city was our goal from the beginning. Mom and Dad had always dreamt of living there one day, and here I am, about to move to the city of their dreams in their place. They always talked about how beautiful the scenery was, how amazing the beaches were, and always talked about buying a bungalow on the seaside.
“It’s a big day tomorrow. I should get some rest.” I thought to myself and watched the clock tick slowly.
I closed my eyes shut, eyelids feeling heavy from all the tears that I shed those last few minutes, waiting for the next day to come.