When the Ground Shifts

year ago today I was sitting on the floor of my studio apartment surrounded by boxes. Not packing boxes. Not yet. Just the regular accumulation of a life I had carefully built. I had been studying for my licensure exams for months. The finish line was close enough to see. And then someone appeared in the doorway, and I knew — before a word was spoken — that everything was about to rearrange itself into something unrecognizable.