Habituation

I woke up today on an island of mattress in a sea of my own junk. Yes, that's a rather purple way to put it, but fitting. I woke up, and I clambered around my stuff, and went to work, and now I've come home and clambered around my stuff and have squeezed myself into a corner of my bed near the window so that I can steal the internet and write this. I should be decreasing the clamber-factor in my new space, but never mind, just a word.
People talk here all the time. I walk down the street and doors stand open and voices issue out, people stand on balconies, porches, and talk and talk. My neighbour sits in his room alone and talks on his phone. I open my window and voices come in with the breeze. The ghetto is noisy.
Downtown is filled with parents and teenagers, tourists, toddlers, tricycles. Seagulls. The sun is so warm it makes the difference of a jacket between sun and shadow. It's summer all of a sudden; and not because the season turned on a dime. I think the moving made it happen. So quickly -- One night and a few blocks, and my whole life rearranges.
I'm not ready for you to be gone.