I'm living where we used to live, you and I. It's the same building, just a few floors higher. It has the same view. It's different though and I wake up lost now and then, thinking that it looks familiar but something isn't quite right. The things that I used to like about living here seem foreign now, and when I walk through the lobby it feels more like a dream of the past than like the present. I remember late nights out with friends trying to beat the sun rise home with the same hazy quality covering as there was when I stepped into the elevator this morning. If today were a movie it would be Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

I'm living like a gypsy; everything that fills the rooms where I stay belong to someone else. They are nice things, but they aren't mine. They aren't yours either and they were never ours. Maybe that's why there is a strange comfort as well as a slight dissatisfaction in it. If My life were a book, today it would be A Moveable Feast.

I'm not sad, or melancholic, just pensive. I think that coming back here is like living next door to the house you grew up in. If today were a song, it might have been Fairy Tale of New York, but it isn't and I'm glad that it's not.