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My days and nights twist; I sloth through the mornings and sprint through the nights, no matter. Disease rips at my veins and my patience, I do not care. It is time to pack, the months of relative stability come to an end, I tear at piles of papers and notes and reminders of seasons past. A small voice at the back of my spine whispers pack carefully, you may not return, and I laugh at the silly notion. My roommate said long ago she suspected I'd stay out there, that wanderlust would grasp me and I'd be lost to the moment. A craigslist ad appears in my News Feed, a friend of a friend, corner of Jones and Bleecker, decent price. I giggle again into the night.

I will be back, of course, I have promises and obligations, haven't I? (haven't I?) But all the time, that voice, helping me pack, one bag for summer suits, one for things I can live without in the coming month. things I can live without, period. I resist the urge to throw everything away. Who needs it. I caress Ginsberg on my dresser; he is so heavy, but I would carry him anywhere. What else is there? There's the clothes on your back, the letters of your loves, the machines of the modern world. Everything else you can do without. You are weightless, you are free, I am happy.

I will be back, of course. I have promises and obligations. I have. Just give me this moment, give me this breath of air, give me this smiling soul. I am happy.