How is it that I am doing things my way, yet I check if what I'm doing is okay with the inhabitants?
How is it that when I know I'm alone, I talk to the people in the house?
It's not forever, of course, this I know. One day, probably sooner than later, Quarter Moon House will be gone. I don't know if mine will be the last tribe of humans to live here, but if I am...
I'm determined to absorb every bit of energy left here,
in the paint and dust and behind walls,
Recording my time as I add to it all, like a new spice in the stew.
If I'm not the last, of course I will leave it with more whispers and scents of my life.
How awesome is that?