Postcards from Nowhere

Places

The other day I realized you will never know “my place.” By the time we’re together, “my place” won’t exist. It’ll be only “your place” with my stuff in it, and then eventually “our place”. I don’t have a room “back home”, and my dorm room will be no more by the time you come for graduation. I’m almost hurt that you will never see a place that is entirely my own. And really, even now, my place has a lot of you in it. I suppose if we do have seperate dens and offices, then you’ll sort of see it as my seperate place, but it’s not the same. It’s hard to say. Oh, well. Even my place, now, is not entirely me. I would have it different if I could. Sort of like how I dress. I have a great fashion sense, but I can’t afford it. So, I’m stuck wearing jeans with holes in them, and a lot of t-shirts. I’d wear skirts almost every day if I could, but you know, the same three skirts day after day gets a bit old. And so do the same few tops I have. It’ll be nice once I have a good paying job and are not up to my eyebrows in debt. Then I can appear to be more me than I am at the moment.

I don’t look like me. Funny sounding, isn’t it? Oh, and if you don’t want to be notified, let me know.