year three

it just hit me that i'm here. that the little-girl image i have of myself doesn't meet reality. i am young, yes. but here i am- nearly alone in a very big city, curled up in a still-smokey sleeping bag, sitting on a bed in a empty room on a top floor of a empty apartment building. the walls are wide and white and empty. it smells like mold and dust in here and my first order of business after throwing the contents of my suitcase in the closet were to purchase milk, cereal, greek yogurt, peaches, and fresh flowers. i can see the city from this window; a big scar in the ground where they're building a 10-story parking garage, people streaming past little trees in the shadows of ugly buildings, and a wide grey sky. the bathroom is tiled with those tiny white octogons from the 50's and the kitchen has more cabinet space than i'll be able to fill. i am alone but not so alone.

i'm home here, for a while. august to may. this bed and these walls will watch me grow and give me something familiar to hold on to.

yes, i am young but i am strong.