rearranging

i keep rearranging the furniture in this flat, trying to find a configuration that feels right. it's a compulsion, one that i'm not sure i understand. maybe it's because i'm trying to leave my mark on this place, to make it feel like mine. or maybe it's just because i have nothing better to do. the lease is up in a month, and i'll be moving to a new place. but for now, i'm stuck in this limbo, trying to make sense of things. i move the couch to the other wall, and the armchair to the corner. it's a small change, but it feels significant. like i've altered the fabric of reality in some way. i sit down on the couch, feeling the cushions conform to my shape. it's a familiar sensation, one that's both comforting and boring. i look around the room, taking in the new configuration. it's not perfect, but it's better. or at least, it feels like it is. i get up, and start to wander around the flat. i touch the walls, feeling the texture of the paint. it's a gentle sensation, one that's almost soothing. i think about all the times i've done this, all the times i've rearranged the furniture in this flat. it's a ritual, one that i'm not sure i'll ever be able to break. but for now, it's enough. by aniruddh menon