Leaving

It doesn’t look all that different.

Pictures on the wall. Furniture. Candles and dishes vacuum cleaner throw pillows. It’s all still here.

It doesn’t exactly NOT feel like home.

But sitting here on my last night as the quiet sets in after my girlfriends have left, the remnants of champagne we drank and cupcakes we’ve eaten have been taken out with the trash.

The last load of trash.

The last get together.

The last dinner.

The last time I go to sleep in this bed.

It doesn’t look all that different but it doesn’t quite feel like it’s mine anymore. The drawers are empty, all my personal effects cleared out. It feels more like an Airbnb that I’ve just sort of paused in for a long while.

And I suppose that’s the perfect way for it to feel as from here on out that’s how Brisket and I will be living. Each home we insert ourselves into for a short or long period of time, someone else’s home that we make our own.

It’s funny how little I actually need to create a sense of home. The sweet puppy staring at me with his pale blue eyes, a few articles of clothing, a water bottle, a wallet, a laptop, a favorite hoodie.

I can’t believe these are all the things I need to feel home. But they are.

I honestly thought this moment but feel a little bit scarier, or emptier, or more daunting than it does. And maybe once we get on the road and have put thousands of miles between this place and us, maybe it will feel a little bit bigger a little bit more vast.

But in this moment it feels like my home could be anywhere and it would be perfect.