Sometimes I wish I had stayed in one place my whole life; it seems like anyone I meet is destined to go away, or that I will eventually have to disappear, to go somewhere far, far away, to start over, over and over again. It seems like there's some sort of cycle, like I should never get too close to people, since they'll all be gone in a bit, anyway. For someone who's been in love with flux for as long as he's remembered, for someone who basks in the beauty of change, there are some times when I just want to stop moving, to be able to settle, to find a place I know and love.

Some days, when I come home, everything looks so new, so foreign. It's like there's a different light cast on the room, or maybe it's just the particular arrangement of the furniture which suggests that everything's somehow different. Different, except for the fact that the room is still my room, and, for the first time in my life, I have nobody I have to share it with.

Sure, it's great, but it just seems like such a culmination of my life so far; no matter where I go, or who I meet, it seems that I'm destined to be alone for a while. For all I know, I might die alone. I've often pictured myself, old, frail, alone, sick, tired, suicidal. It makes the tears gather in my eyes and stream down, silent, much like the graveyard at my funeral, where I will lay alone in a black casket, since nobody will remember exactly how I want to be buried - above ground, crypt locked from the inside, with food and supplies (in case I'm not really dead) - there won't be anyone at the cemetary that day, except maybe my younger siblings and their families, which I will have been at best a peripheral part of. Then they will shovel the dirt over me and that will be it. Packed away for eternity, people will start to forget about that random person they met at that random party oh so many years ago, and I will finally cease to exist, fading into the oblivion that spawned me.

Or maybe I've already disappeared, and I just don't know it.