Moving Out
The Muse Letter No. 127
I’m sitting in an almost empty room, naked white walls, no dresses dangling on the clothes rack just three debilitated black hangers I am leaving behind. My bookshelf only carrying my books at the moment the one’s that I am hoping to sell before I move on Tuesday. The other’s already tucked away in boxes I used 9 months ago, wisely hidden in all the nooks and crannies I could stash them.
I always knew that this was a transitory place. Found during a transitory time after living on couches and spare rooms for two months last summer, after ending a life I thought I wanted. I took what was offered and I was glad for having found this flat. “You always find these places, that are just so you!” my friend likes to say whenever I am moving again. And I think I do, too. There’s this need to seek environments that are in sync with me and to mold, to tweak, to create them if necessary. However, other factors make a home, too.
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As I am moving out of my transit…
