An apartment.

I've lost people in life that I once thought would be in it for the long haul but in hindsight, I say good for them. Staying around would have been to their demise. I just hope they're still good.

This time when the blues came around, i was standing by the door, admiring the space one last time with a smile plastered across my face. I was ready to leave, and it sure felt good not being the room.

I transformed into energy. I became the air that wrapped itself around the grand staircase, the sunlight hitting the white walls. The tenant that just ended her lease and was moving to a new place. The garden across the street that only grew sunflowers. The bird that frequented the window facing the street. It all made sense. I was all of it and none of it simultaneously. It was never my duty to convince anyone that I can be home for them.

This poem is about: 
Me

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