Newness; a sense of space

I sit here, in my new place, my temporary place and think off all that has gotten me here. Every space is temporary. This place, with its broad walls and low ceilings, is just that a space. It is not home. The laminate floor sticks to my feet as I walk. The noise it causes reminds me of dogs running on a hardwood floor. These walls, part exposed brick, part drywall, tell the stories of what people have done to them. What they have endured silently.

The view, pieced together with 6 separate windows, shows me a bleak city. My city. Philadelphia to be precise. Crooked venetian blinds hide it from me when I no longer wish to see derelict buildings with skyscrapers on the horizon; hope in the midst of chaos.

This place, with all its imperfections, serves as a place to store my things before I move on. It is a home for my objects and the memories I have associated with them. It keeps me dry in the rain and warm in the cold. Its a place to create memories, to laugh with friends, and to be held in.