another roof

another page

When I moved this past week, my bed became smaller, a queen to a twin, while my room became bigger.

I sit on my twin bed, pushed against a wall that suddenly feels too far from everything else. My mess was nothing compared to the amount of floor surrounding it.

In the middle of unpacking my room, learning where things belong, I became friends with my neighbors. Somehow it happened naturally, the way things do when you’re new and a little untethered. We spent our evenings on the patio, wrapped in blankets and robes in the freezing February air, smoking until our hands went numb and our conversations felt warmer than the space around us.

L was close to my age, while D was younger and closer to my brother’s. Their sibling dynamic mirrored ours almost exactly, which made getting along feel effortless. L was more introspective, the one asking questions, while D told the stories. Getting to know them felt like recognizing a familiar pattern in a different house.

Inside, my room still feels too big. The walls echo more than they should. But outside, sitting beside people who felt strangely familiar, the space didn’t feel so empty. It was as if what I lost in comfort inside had begun to reappear in smaller, shared moments elsewhere.