Waiting

I’m surrounded by art most of which are my wife’s creations. But despite the number paintings and art pieces we have, the walls are surprisingly beige and bare. We keep saying we are going to hang the pictures up, but we never do. It’s not for lack of trying. It’s just that even after eight months of living here, it all still feels so temporary. I can’t really explain it other than saying everything just feels so new. I mean management did slap on new coat of paint on the walls and recovered the floors before we moved in. But still it feels like it’s not so much ours and that we are just staying at an Airbnb.
 
But I take all these emotions with a spoon full of sugar, cause I got bigger fish to fry. Like making sure the rent is covered and that we don’t violate the 30 pages of rules we are bound too. We rented our last house for 10 years on a gentleman’s handshake. And although we were kicked out with a two week notice, it took two months to find a new home. Mostly due to Hurricane Helene causing housing shortages. After all these months it still feels like we moved into a condo, were we have overstayed our welcome. Especially when compared to the old shotgun shack we were living in.  
 
But who knows what the hell I’m trying to say here. Other than it’s all seems to be moving so fast. I feel shackled within these four walls…these four beige walls. Doing time. So as the sun quietly sets and black envelops the sky. The security lights and cameras rob me of just a little of that old peace. Reminding me of doing a roundabout in a patrol car at a prison. Just looking for something, anything that seems out of place. And while the rest of the tenants seem comfortable and loud. I rest with one eye open waiting for the next shoe to drop.