Most days, I'm okay. Some days, it hurts. I miss everything;

Most days, I'm okay.
Some days, it hurts.
I miss everything;
from the smell of the wood heater
to the sound of my father kicking off his boots.
I miss waking up to my mother's favourite playlist,
falling asleep to the dogs barking.

Most days, I love it here.
Some days, it's too lonely.
I hate everything;
from the eerie quiet on weekends
to disconnect of people on my floor.
I hate the solitude of a studio apartment,
the independence of living alone.

Most days, I'm happy here.
Some days, I just want to go home.