I am laying on my stomach--with this lumpy carpet embedded in my knees and elbows, my ribs about to pierce my skin and my spine flat against my stomach--in my room that's so empty it sort of echos. It feels like I'm moving in all over again, only to move out in about six weeks. But the fresh paint is nice. And it's late. It's 12:43 AM on a week night and I'm up way too late for the nth time in a row. But the late and the quiet is nice.

And, you know, I've never been so excited for the future as I am in this moment.

Everything just feels right.

I just want to lay here, breathing in and out while the minutes tick away. I want to hear the air conditioning turn on and off, listening to this place breathe. I want to soak this up now, write it in my bones. This is everything pausing, gathering, aligning. This is life making sense. This is me feeling whole. This is peace, and it's sinking in my bones.