I don't have the urge to escape like I used to. I still want to see foreign places, but for now I am working towards a place of my own and that is enough. I am not as stray anymore, not as nomadic. My travels have ceased to be about experience and have taken an edge of urgency. I have to get from here to there, from one place to the next. I have goals and I don't know how I feel about giving up a life without points. Just in these past few days and weeks, I have come to measure my life by monetary means. I know that I earned close to one-hundred dollars in just these past two days and I know that leaves a two-hundred and seventy-five dollar gap between my present and my potential. I want that apartment so bad. I can feel it, spreading under my skin like the smooth bark on a dogwood.

I will hang mirrored tapestries from the walls and beads from the doors. I will layer the floor in cushions and rugs. I will cover the tables in ashtrays and potted plants. I will grow flowers in the windows. I will make it a home.

I need a home.