I’ve lived in this room for the past six weeks. Not once has it felt like home. Most times when I move somewhere new, the walls and sheets start to take on a certain scent that reminds me of myself and the people I love. Here, the smell is like any hotel you’ve ever known. Industrial clenser and mass-washed linens.
In the next 20 minutes, I’m leaving this room and going home. I’m so tired I can’t move myself to even take a shower before the trip east.
I don’t care. I’m going home. And I write this only as a reminder to myself:
When I get there, I’m going to be better.