Scribble: Last night at my old apartment...

      Empty cupboards, save for some canned goods and some bags of tea. Nothing left in the bedroom, though the entire place feels empty. Doesn't feel the same without the cats around, but that's to be expected.
      Nothing here but a futon, some shelves, and some things best left forgotten.
      No one is left in the old town, now that summer's come. All the familiar faces faded away over the years, save for a few who still haunt the old stomping grounds, unkindly ghosts they are. Maybe they're not the ghosts anymore.
      The rain's gone on for hours, the only comfort to be had here. The sounds makes it a little less lonesome, here in this great empty space.
      Eight months this place stole away, the days and weeks swallowed into the cheap drywall and the cracks in the paint. Who knows what's seeped into the tattered carpet by now, or why the sink never drained properly. At least the bed's gone now.
      Things best left forgotten.
      One more day. Another sunrise, another morning, another afternoon. Never have to come back here again, with its horrible oven or finicky heater. No more odd smells and sounds coming from upstairs, or the fear of running out of life to live. Freedom. Has a nice ring to it.
      Never could stand this place. If its walls could talk, I know what they'd say:
      I hate you. And I'm never going to let you forget it.