Being away from them is not that different than being with them, but I think that will change. I don't have much of my own now. I left behind in the attic room. It was not mine, it never quite made it from their giving to my taking. Things keep the smell of the hands they come from.
Dogs know about that.
Unless a thing come from yourself it always seems borrowed, leased, rented by the hour. So I can only sit here on this one chair I got from Good Will or on the bed that was in the apartment when I came. There is not much of a view out my one window, but I was never that big on looking out the window anyway. I swallow a quaalude and walk all the way over to my old neighborhood. I don't hardly look down the driveway where I used to live to see if my father's car is there.