As I stand here amongst the boxes of hand-me-down kitchen appliances and too many books I’ll never get around to reading and knick knacks that date back to the 90’s and cords to electronics that don’t exist anymore that populated this apartment for the 23 months I called it home, I can’t help but feel a pang of sadness that sits heavy at the bottom of my knees. This was the first home I shared with a love. The first home for my baby girl, Madame. The first home I endured during heartbreak when that love left. The first home I had to manage on my own. My first home away from home.
How do I begin to say goodbye to the creaky wooden floors? Or to the room that is literally only big enough for a queen bed? Or to the bathtub that could easily walk away with me still showering in it? Or to the one window unit that never seemed to cool anything down in the dead of summer? Or to the radiators that always seemed to warm up every room way too much? Or to the kitchen, and bathroom, that were clearly designed to be used by only one person at a time? Or to the fountain you can hear from the dining room window? Or to the living room window that becomes overgrown with vines in the summer? Or to the magical courtyard that I instantly fell in love with?
It’s been a rollercoaster these past 23 months. Lots of laughs. Fights. Hugs. Pains. Kisses. Tears. Love. But I look forward to moving. To leaving all that behind. To moving on. To starting a new chapter in my life. A new era.
Until next time,