a room that no longer exists

I'm sitting in a room that no longer exists, the childhood home that my family left behind when we moved to the city. The walls are still the same, the windows, the door. But everything else is different, the furniture, the decorations, the feel of the air. I'm sitting here with my cousin, who's visiting from out of town. We're both quiet, lost in our own thoughts. I think about the times we spent in this house, the laughter, the arguments, the late night conversations. My cousin is staring out the window, her eyes fixed on something in the distance. I wonder what she's thinking, what memories she's lost in. The room is silent, the only sound the creaking of the old wooden floor. I get up to get some water from the kitchen, and as I walk back, I see my cousin's eyes well up with tears. I don't know what to do, how to comfort her. I sit back down, and we're both quiet again, lost in our own thoughts. The room is a ghost, a reminder of what's been lost. We're both just visitors, passing through a place that no longer exists.