I'm a mess.
As I see boxes, bags and all of my stuff everywhere I notice that I carry so much baggage with me. The people i've met, the places I've lived, the emotions i've felt. Each time, i become more and more a mixture of things, a mess
I look at this square of an apartment. There was so much crying, laughing, tension and just...it was my first home in my real home.
You see, the best way to describe most of my past years is with a blink of an eye. Each blink a new place. And when you move so much it really feels like you don't belong to either.
It gets messy answering questions like "where are you from?" and "where do you live?" And as I heard each question not knowing the answers myself, I just I dreamed of a little* small little place, a place where i could stay.
So, i did. I moved into that small little place and it meant I successfully started over. At home. My home. It meant I could finally let my guard down, breathe and just, stay.
And the baggage, both emotional and physical that I carry just means I am finally beginning to grow roots. Oh, and my roots are so many places, my roots are each of you.
This little mess I carry, this little mess I am just means I am finally unpacking.