Pro Tempore

I have never felt so replaceable in my life.

Why does everything around this place feel so temporary?

Maybe it's the smell of lavender linen spray,

or the fact that my face wash smells like hotel soap.

The fact that I fold my towels on top of my toilet, or that I hang a robe on the back of my bathroom door.

A cup by the sink.

Hotel-esque.

Yet my drawers are packed with things, my closet is so full that I don't have room for Narnia.

If I can feel so temporary in a stable environment, does that make me replaceable?

Will this room go out for rent once I leave?

I've already been replaced in one, two, three ways.

Three ways already.

So soon.

Oh well.

I guess this will teach me to live for the moment.

Scrunch my toes in the carpet every once in a while,

and realize I'm not leaving anytime in the near future.

I'll see that same view out that same window with that same dream catcher for the next almost 2 years.

That's fine by me.

Life is irreplaceable,

life is pro tempore.