Refraction of Terror

i have been here for a little over two weeks.
i have slept in this bed, in these sheets
i have walked among people i do not know
i have eaten in places i still find unfamiliar

it's disjointed.

when i come back from a weekend at home -
it hits me as i leave the car. the tears.
the fact i am no longer just at "home".
that i have somewhere else to go, now, too.

it's sad. it's terrifying. it's strange.
i want to be home, so so badly.
i want to wake up late, go downstairs, get coffee
and then start my day.

now, though, i get up in an uncomfortable bed
and hope my roommate is awake
make that coffee in a keurig that isn't mine
get onto my computer for some early-morning calculus.

there's no breezy field just beside me, no
no dogs barking and competing for my affection, no
no cat waiting outside my door to scream at my face, no
none of my siblings, neither my mother or my father

waiting for me there.

i am alone. i am somewhere new.
i've signed up for loans i don't know if i can repay.
i have limited things, they won't just restock at the end of the week if i run out.
i have responsibilities, now, classes to go to.

sure, i've been dealing with that for twelve years
but now, but now, i'm away from people
i grew up with.
there's little familiarity here.

i know my roommate. some of my friends.
but not really anyone else.
there is also, of course,
the virus, here, that

i don't doubt will shut us down
for i don't think we should've opened in the first place
i think we should've stayed online, the majority of my classes are online, anyway
but still, here i am, away from home and all i know

to study for a degree i don't even know that i want.
to be, possibly, at the mercy of a virus already on campus
to become an adult when i don't believe i had enough time to be a child
to become my own person, away from my siblings.

i don't know what to do.