I walked in and began. I even took a bigger place. More floor than I have ever had.

Then I barely filled it.

The old me would have stacked it to the ceiling. Instead I chose a few things.

A better desk, because the terminal is the one honest thing I do. A small shelf with a plant on it. I keep hundreds of things that never grow, and the first thing I wanted at home was something I have to keep alive.

A lamp, only because it is beautiful.

A radio, playing something low. After a thousand quiet hours, a song in the corner of a place that is mine.

A big room, mostly empty. Everything in it chosen.