Home

I have been here too long, I think. It is starting to feel like home. The walls are my favorite shade of blue, my feet have made peace with every creak in the floorboards. My body has made home in the crevices of a bed that is not mine, though it feels like it now.

As I pack, I glance out the window at the trees that have become all too familiar, in their bark a friendly face, the shaking of their leaves a tender laugh I am going to miss when I am gone. I wonder if it will miss me too.

I wonder if remnants of me will continue to live here when I go. An echo of a footstep and a lingering creak, an imprint of my body in its bed, so that this house feels full even when it is empty. So that it feels less alone than I do as I step out the door and embrace the coming of reality.