The torture of moving to somewhere in everywhere

I am moving out from my beloved apartment in two weeks. I am not moving to anywhere in partucular. Actually I'm gonna be kinda homeless. I'm moving all my shit back to my parents. My clothes, my closet, my accesories, my couch, my sound system, all my chairs, the beer cases I use as bookcases my lamps, my magazines and books, my posters. Everything. But I'm not moving in with my parents. I'm gonna partly sleep there and sleep at friendly friends' houses. In two months I'm going to Boston and staying there for a month with my boyfriend. After that we're going to Stockholm together. He's doing his masters. I'm gonna stay there for half a year doing my internship. And then I'm gonna come back to Copenhagen, being able to live with all my precious things again. For a while at least. 
 I guess I am a material girl. With a passion for visual treasures, I find it hard not to be. I just love my shit, and it's gonna be hard not to have it around...

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