Last times are weird.

It's my last night on campus.  Last night in this cave of a room, which is now looking utterly disassembled, and slightly less messy than it did while I was occupying it with all of my nonattention.  I kind of wonder what happens to the spaces that we occupy.  Do I change to fill a room, to slope with my ceiling or crane to the corner window?  Or did my room change for me?  Will it miss me?  Did we really get to know each other at all, or was my discontent with the space always a barrier between us, and now there's no time to go back and repair the relationship?

I don't really know where the stuff I own came from.  I don't buy things to put in my room.  I rarely even buy clothes--Mom gets them, on sale or on clearance, and they either fit me or don't.  But things appear.  The posters on my walls were from Search.  Nothing else decorative, really.  Nothing that might explain my interests, should my room ever be forced into a situation where it might introduce me to someone.

Next fall, I'll have a different room, and I wonder if I'll be a different person.  I was a different person in my last dorm room, and the one before that.  Maybe it's because of the people I associate the room with, and the relationships that I have, and the people that shape whatever dreams I have when I'm sleeping on this particular bed. 

I'm waking up in six hours, ironing out the summer sublease, cleaning out the fridge and my espresso machine, packing away my couple of dishes and all the little things that need a home--the picture of my parents, the packing tape, my headphones, a box of thank you cards, a baking pan... Then Dad will come, we'll pack things up, I'll take my vacuum and fan over to Kurt for him to babysit over the summer, and I'll drive home.

I'm not going to see my best friends for a hundred and seven days.

I'd better find time to take the train back here this summer.  I miss them already.