This is going to suck.
By “this” I mean leaving and by “suck” I mean I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE.
The dust bunnies under my bed can stay where they are; I don’t want to disturb them or make them fly around.
Less than a week from today, this won’t be my room anymore.
This isn’t my room anymore.
My room for the summer is in a hotel with generic paintings, wallpapers and bedspreads.
Eh, at least it’ll be a queen bed. And the hotel opened yesterday.
Oh, and at least I’m not a senior.
But for now I’ll keep drinking wine and wishing for permanence.