I feel like a master at 30 minute farewells.
I think that it's going to hit me. It's going to hit me someday that I'm not always going to be on this bed. In this house. With these people. People that I love, a house I rather like, and a bed that is quite soft. And I'm worried that someday soon that's going to hit. Like there is going to be some big change that thrusts me out into a place that isn't what I feel is right but ultimately is. I'm homesick already because I can't pull my head out of the curtain. Keeping it backstage is getting harder, my nose poking through, perhaps a bit of light hitting it. The audience giggles. Perhaps I need to rip down the curtain and enjoy the thoughts of future with those of now and the past and muddle them all together because I think it would be quite nice. What doesn't help though, is writing stuff like this. So I'm going to get up now, off of this bed, and go outside of this house I rather like to be with the people I love.