rearranging the furniture

I've been putting off the inevitable, rearranging the furniture in this flat I'm about to leave. It's a pointless exercise, but it's something to do. I moved the couch to the other wall, then back again. I switched the lamps, then switched them back. I stood in the center of the room, looking around. It all looked the same, felt the same. I thought about the people who lived here before me, the people who will live here after me. I wondered what they would be like, what kind of lives they would lead. I thought about the way I've lived, the way I've made this place my own. I've left my mark, in small ways. A scratch on the wall, a stain on the carpet. They're not much, but they're something. I'll be gone soon, and this place will be empty. The furniture will be rearranged again, the walls will be repainted. It will be like I never existed. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'm not sure I care. I just know I have to keep moving, have to keep going. I put the furniture back the way it was, then sat down on the couch. I closed my eyes, felt the weight of the moment. It was a small, insignificant moment, but it was mine.