This is Not Permanent

Nothing you know now will be true in a year

The smell of cigarettes from the upstairs neighbor's balcony, the wonky thermostat, tuna sandwiches for lunch

Loud music on the nights that lasted way too long

Friends in and out like mice

Always overstaying their welcome, but always welcome

My last heartbreak and my first real love

The way the sunlight pours through the windows and into the kitchen each morning

The kitchen

Walks in the summertime, admiring the houses and imagining myself somewhere a little more permanent

Because this is not permanent

Holding onto this moment so tightly that my jaw clenches and my knuckles turn white

With each rent check, it slips further from me and closer to becoming a memory

But I remember my first blunt here like it was my last

Celebrating the independence my sixteen-year-old self could have only dreamed of

Tears streaming down my face because the stars shone brighter for me here, or at least it felt like they did