Yellow orb. Ceiling light. Smell of clean bedsheets. Bleach. Music. Dusk peers around the dark branches of trees, in the window. Is this home? It has been.

It has been. But change moves lasciviously over in the corner, and the excitement of finding a new home keeps me awake, keeps me on my feet, keeps me obsessively checking craigslist. We called a potential landlord today. Expensive place. Sounds nice. We'll look at it next week, but we probably won't rent it.

And now I feel placeless, as if I'm being unfaithful to this and future homes. In between committed relationships, looking at beautiful people with whom I have nothing in common and no possible future. But I need to rip off the proverbial band-aid, get the proverbial ball rolling. It's time to move on.

But here there's dusk, and dark tree branches, and yellow orbs on the ceiling. And music. And freshly bleached bedsheets.