Looking out of a window in to another I think about the things that I most trust to be familiar. The things I trust so deeply they escape notice, and soon will all change. Things like the peeling paint in familiar buildings, and the architecture that reflects tastes of the past. The little plops of green too small to be a yard that dot apartment complexes with the single evergreen tree I’ve seen all my life but can’t name. I’ll miss the windows of the apartments I’ve always dreamed of living in, and the parts of town that are “the last place I want to be.” I’ll miss the smell of ferns in the summer, the brown pine needles in the fall. I’ll miss the million little notes from the environment that I barely notice yet in silent chorus remind me I know where I am.  All those notes will change in one week to new and alien song.
I will miss the trust that my environment is familiar. Until my new environment becomes the same.


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