it's kind of like make-believe

i live alone. i've tried it all so far. lived at home, moved out with my older brother, lived with boyfriends, friends, french families and alone again. i walk around my apartment and sometimes i forget it's real. i'm not pretending and it's not make-believe. this is my space with my things, my pets and my particular silence. i'm not acting like an adult with my own place. i am an adult with my own place. inside these walls i do what i like. i'm responsible for the music filling these rooms, the meals made in the kitchen and the sleep i may or may not get in my bed. i forget my age at times. i forget all the things i've done to get me where i am today. i do remember, however, the simple wish most kids have when they're stuck living at home with their parents: i just want my own place. i want to be the boss of me.