I woke up today feeling quite lonely.

but even after almost three weeks of consistent visitors sharing this here room with me,
it wasn't the company of others I felt lonely for. It was the loneliness of my bedroom that overtook me.
I started by scanning the place full of objects I have loved.
The room with high angular ceilings all adding to the small industrial fire alarm above my bed. 
My scant hat collection pinned to the wall making it look as if they were floating. 
That cheap American flag hanging with the sole purpose of design.
The botany posters that I had gotten for $1 and never found frames for.
The mini succulent drowning in sunlight;
the one in which I'm trying my best to keep alive because he was an expensive little guy. 
Old artworks from a drawing class I loved.
The remnants of my past projects and the many mason jar cups I abandon on my white dresser.
The boba from two nights ago that Erika and I shared on her last night in town.
The beautiful balcony I had dreams of decorating and sharing meals on. 
My wooden desk that still hugs my heart.
Even my newly acquired parking ticket. 

But just looking around I couldn't help but feel sad.
These objects that had meant so much to me from time and time again just felt so damn lonely. 

In a short few days I should be packing all of this away and leaving the room bare, just as it was when I moved in 5 months prior. 
I'm in between. 
And I feel like if I can just lay in bed, unmoving, this moment will stay unmoved with me as well.

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