The Rumor Mill

People say I've changed, people say I'm different. Granted, these people--this mill-- is full of acquaintances that fate has brought to cross my path. They don't know me. They don't know who I used to be. They don't know how much I've been stifled, how much I've suppressed, how my depression ate at my core. It felt good to feel depressed, as it sometimes does--everyone goes through it. But now, it feels good to be "different" even though "different" is the same as before; only this time, I'm not attached to the idea of forever in a romantic sunlit setting. I'm happy being with me. I'm happy having my space and my things occupying it. I'm proud of what I have, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep it. The change I smelled in the air months ago is still breezing through--there is still an amount of change to take place, this move was only the beginning. Even though I cannot deny my inner desire to have a warm body in my bed, I am confident that that warm body does not need to be permanent. I'm happy with myself, in this little nook, my piece of Ireland tucked in the depths of an exploding America--I finally found my niche.