I’m at that point where the place I’ve lived for the last year is no longer my home. All the things that made it home are packed into an assortment of boxes, bags, and suitcases, and that leaves me in a stripped-down room that used to feel so comforting. It’s a weird feeling, to lose all the meaning that a room once had, but to know that you’re just going to make some other place your home and soon you’ll forget all about this moment.
I’ve made homes out of a lot of places, and I’m sure it won’t stop with the next one. I kind of wonder what, or who, might be what makes me stop and settle down in one place for a while. Until then, I guess I’ll keep starting over and over again.